Malachite's Worth
by Lazov
Summary: His second year in a world he never knew existed, his second year in Hogwarts, his second year in Slytherin. The Brown Book is not the only secret in Hogwarts he keeps close to his chest.
1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape is a patient man, above all things. He may appear abrasive to many, snapping at all whom he might deem inferior, bothersome or just a plain waste of his time, but above all the preconceptions, he is patient. So he waits now. He sits in this detestable muggle abode and observes. He didn't bother transfiguring his robes into something that would ease the nerves of muggles, he felt no need to accomodate them, especially not after what he had learned.

This visit was both dreaded and anticipated, for all parties considered.

* * *

Not for the first, nor the last time, Severus cursed the oblivious fools at Hogwarts. He cursed the man or woman who had come up with the system by which letters were sent out to children on their eleventh birthday. Something had possessed him a few days back, his suspicions from the past year plagued his mind, and he found serenity was out of his reach, there was a need, a drive, to find out what had shaped one Hadrian Potter into the serpent that he was. The brat was trouble, just not the kind he had been expecting. So unlike his father. So unlike his mother. He only had their looks and nothing more, the rest was completely independent of whatever heritage in terms of physical appearance he had inherited from the two.

Again he cursed the idiot who made the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter System. It had taken him a day to be brought out of his brooding before he ventured into that part of the castle. Even now, the quill glided in the air, spraying its inky residue across the parchment, informing the children, some pureblood, some muggleborn, and some in between, of their acceptance into Hogwarts. The room served more than just that as its purpose, it was an archive as well, spacious enough to provide the needed room for the duplicates of every letter sent, and suffocating enough with the amount of letters one could find in it, so much that you could hardly believe a person could stand in it. It didn't take long to find the letter he had come seeking, a basic summoning charm and in the Potions Masters hands rested the letter for Hadrian Potter. His first letter. There were others, Severus noted, but the first one was the one that troubled him the most, that brought an unease to his being, and a light headache to his mind.

_**Little Whinging, Privet Drive 4, The Cupboard under the Stairs**_

_**Hadrian Potter**_

The words rested upon the parchment, silent in their accusation of the man that read them, as if he was the one that placed the child there. Had his stomach been weaker, he might have felt bile rising. Had his self-control lapsed, he might have done something unforgivable. So there he stood, inanimate, silent as the statues that littered the roof of the school, but no less threatening in his presence.

The rest of the day was spent in his private offices, hidden behind a portrait with the keyword known only to him and no other. Glass after glass, he poured the wretched liquid down his throat, not enjoying it, but only seeking to numb his mind. To numb it from going down the path that would bring forth more remorse and self-guilt, bubbling up towards the surface. A path which would show him how Hadrian Potter had become one of his snakes. The glass shattered on the stone wall of his room, his eyes wandering about it, as if it was an entirely unknown place to him. Distraction. He needed it, but none was provided. Locked in his office, and only eating some light meals that Hogwarts provided, he brooded, mused and pondered about what to do.

Already had the Headmaster approached him, the students having barely left the school, concern, false or true, he couldn't say, etched on his wrinkled face, the blue eyes subdued and lacking their distinctive twinkle, for he had come to talk to Severus about one of his snakes. He received a scowl in reply before anything further was said, as Snape had been sure the old man had come to complain again about his House and how some of his students were less than amicable towards the other Houses, most likely Gryffindor. But then an eyebrow was arched up, as the Headmaster inquired about Hadrian Potter. He asked all that Severus knew, learned, about the boy, to be shared with him. And then told him that he would be sent to check up on the brat.

A sneer was an appropriate reply as any other, for Severus didn't wish to reveal his suspicions about the brat to the Headmaster, who often tended not to see the trees for the forest.

"I worry, Severus, that he may do something drastic, something which he would regret later in life," Albus spoke with a solemn voice, walking by the Potions Master's side in the dungeon hallways, now completely bereft of students, "He had come to me, asking that he be allowed to stay at school during the summer. I naturally had to refuse the boy, but he would not relent. He seems to harbor... some negative feelings towards Lily's sister and her family. I was not told what the root of his problem with them are, but I suspect it's isolation. He has just come into our world, and he doesn't wish to go back to a place where he cannot do magic. It's a troubling situation, to say the least, especially with what I've learned from Rubeus last year. The boy had absconded on him in Gringotts, quite suddenly and quickly, I suspect the Goblins involved themselves a bit too much in the affair, and provided him with the means. I digress, however, from my purpose here. I worry, Severus, that the boy might try and leave the safety of the home that's provided for him, simply because it is not a magical home. I need you, as you are his Head of House, to check up on the boy, to see that he understands the need to learn to coexist with his family in peace."

Only reason why Severus Snape had not belittled the brat, then and there, in the Headmaster's presence, was because of his previous suspicions and preexisting intentions on seeing how the brat lived. And now, that letter confirmed the suspicions. It brought to mind the words that the rest of his snakes whispered in the common room, loud enough so that the portraits overheard, about the scars on the brat's body.

The recollection of the conversation faded away and he dragged himself off to his private potions cupboard, reaching into its insides for a potion. A modified cure for hangover, one of his own making, it needed to be imbibed before hangover had a chance to settle in, thus preventing the pesky morning-after effects of overindulging oneself with alcohol. Downing the vial's contents sent a chill throughout his body, before, finally, he retired for the night. Tomorrow was going to be a most peculiar day.

* * *

A near-silent _pop_ signified the arrival of the Potions Master. Looking around the empty park, he made his way, slowly, and under several Notice-Me-Not charms of varying complexity, towards the house where he would find his snake. The trouble was, he did not know in what state he would find his snake in. The words, those damnable words from that first letter, floated in the forefront of his mind. The emotions which they brought out were quickly shunted back beneath the surface, caging them so as to not make him slip when confronting the family.

Severus ran one hand over his robes, straightening them out before knocking on the door of the house that looked identical with every other house that he could see. Uniformity, monotony, content, that's what the whole neighbourhood was trying to convey to any who passed near it. Nothing unusual, nothing freakish, nothing but the normality of suburban family life.

The woman that opened the door after a minute of waiting could be none other than Petunia Dursley. The passing of years did not favor her, she was very much the opposite of wine, growing bitter as she aged more and more, her horse-like face abhorent as ever. There was a look of recognition in her eyes once she took in the sight of the man standing in front of her, now open, door.

Severus took in her looks, her body posture, the way her pupils had dilated at the sight of him. Her chest puffed up for a moment, as if she wanted to scream at him, but then thought it over again, instantly deflating, but the look of... hate, fear? It was still there in her eyes.

Mentally rolling his eyes, Severus decided to put a stop to the woman's silence, "Hello, Petunia," he sneered at her, his voice ladden with inflection of disgust at having to pronounce her name, "It's been years. The term 'you haven't changed' might be appropriate for the moment, but some might mistake it for a compliment, so I'll refrain from doing so. Now, are you going to invite me in or shall I drop the spells," the word incurred a flinch on her face, "and allow your neighbors to see me standing in front of your house? Just imagine what they would say."

"Come in, Snape," she replied, tension in her voice.

When he did enter the house, he was struck by the oddest scent in the air. No doubt some kind of muggle way of keeping the air inside the house... fresh. Perhaps that was the intended result, but Snape's nose merely wrinkled at the lemony taint that permeated the air. Going down the hallway, towards where he presumed the living room would be, he passed the stairs and glimpsed a small door, no doubt leading to the same cupboard that the letter was addressed to. His fingers, just barely, twitched as he asserted restraint on his thoughts.

He didn't bother with the pleasantries and simply told the woman that he was here to check up on Potter. She didn't bother with pleasantries either, merely told him that he was outside for the moment, but should be arriving any minute now. Thus he waited. And contemplated what might have happened in the household once Potter had returned from school, a mere week before. There was something going on, of that he was sure of. But what?

The stray thoughts were collected and placed in a corner of his mind, once he heard the front door opening and focused his gaze at the approaching figure. Who turned out to be his snake. The brat looked... different, in a manner of speaking. Nothing had changed physically about the boy since the last time he saw him at school, but there was caution in his step, while the blank mask he was so familiar with slipped over the face.

For the next half an hour, they talked. Not once did Severus ask the brat about his treatment by the Dursleys, not once did Potter bring it up himself. Instead, they talked about schoolwork, about school supplies for the next year, about summer homework, dancing about the truth of the Potions Master's presence here. Neither was going to be direct about it. Severus inquired about whether he needed more nutrient potions, the boy replied _'No'_ and moved on from the topic. After that half an hour had passed, Severus was offered some mild refreshments, a drink or some treats, the latter declined, but the former accepted.

There was a puzzle here and Severus was missing some crucial pieces. During his talk with Potter, he had sensed Petunia's presence, just out of eye's reach. The problem wasn't that he sensed her, but what he sensed from her. Fear. Yes, her mind had fear present when she opened the door and saw him, but not like this. Whereas the fear had only been second to hate in his presence, the hate was almost diminutive in comparison to the fear that radiated off of her now. Sometimes, it pained Severus to be a Master of the Mind Arts. When he was surrounded by those who knew very little of them, or very little of magic in this case, their thoughts tended to betray them. He didn't need to look them in the eyes to sense the emotions that swirled on the surface of their minds, for they had no self-control and their thoughts often contaminated the area. There was no question in his mind of what she was afraid of. His only concern was how had the brat done it. Had he used magic, the Trace would have detected it and they would have known about it. If he were honest with himself, he did not care how it was done, what mattered was that one of his snakes had adapted and survived. What mattered was that Albus Dumbledore will know nothing of the matter. He would be spun a tale, one he would instantly believe in, and he would leave the brat alone. For now.

_'Something drastic indeed, Albus.'_


	2. Chapter 2

_**25th of July, 1992**_

Finally, it arrived. Hadrian had been anticipating this moment, the moment he'd be able to leave the Dursley household. The visitor that had been sent here by the Headmaster had come and gone. It must have grated a great deal on Professor Snape to be sent on pitiful errands like this, no matter that he was one of his own. He doubted very much that Severus Snape did house-calls to anyone. In a way he was grateful that Snape was the one sent here, and not one of the other teachers.

But that didn't matter. An owl from Hogwarts had arrived with the new list of school supplies for this year and he no longer needed to stay at Privet Drive. Were it not for the visit of his Head of House and the subsequent talk about the upcoming school year, the supplies and so on, Hadrian would have not known how to reach Diagon Alley. Last year, it had been Hagrid who took him there by means of a portkey, as he learned the thing's name later on, thus he never saw the front of the Leaky Cauldron, never saw where exactly in London it was located. The Potions Master informed him of one of the alternative means of travelling that was available to him; the Knight Bus. After experiencing the... ride, Hadrian wasn't sure whether to thank the man or curse him. It was a wretched thing and he would have lost what little food he had in his stomach, from all the swerving and physics-altering maneuvers, had it gone on any longer. The man that was the conductor looked disheveled and, quite honestly, mentally impeeded. Hadrian vowed he would come to Diagon Alley next year by different means, as he had no inkling to repeat the experience.

The bus unceremoniously dumped him in front of the Leaky Cauldron, before vanishing from sight, with his trunk in tow and the muggle outfit upon him. He felt... unclean with that kind of clothing, when he was about to enter, once more, into the magical part of Britain. But he walked on, towards the inn that every muggle around could not see, due to some spells in effect, Hadrian presumed. After a quick chat with the man behind the bar, Tom, he left the insides of the place, which was starting to get, slowly but surely, crowded with other arrivals, students and adults alike.

So there he stood in front of the same red brick wall from last year. It took him a few minutes of concentration to remember the bricks tapped by Hagrid before he pulled out his own wand and mimicked the pattern of tapping the bricks in the right order. Again, he was greeted by the wondrous sight of uneven buildings, jutting and portruding out at odd angles, and the throng of people bustling their way around for some purpose or another.

Though many things attracted his gaze, he knew he had to make Gringotts his first stop, as the pouch, in which his money was secured in, needed replenishing. And looking at the list of new supplies that he needed to get, he would most likely need to get more than he did last year. The new books required for DADA alone were going to cost him quite a bit. Seven books, all by the same author, and some poor attempts at puns in the title. _Gilderoy Lockhart_. The name gave him a sense of foreboding. But he quickly pushed the vague worry aside, and ventured forth into the bank.

When he left the marble-white building, his pouch once again filled with galleons, he headed straight for Knockturn, though this time he didn't bother with the medallion that he purchased last year through Griphook, its enchantment had long since run out and would need replenishing. And there was no need for that, as he could now use his wand for protection if needed, the heavy ambient magic of the area would not alert the Ministry of anything he did here. For that bit of knowledge, he was indebted to Vladimir. The muggle clothing was now covered with the cloak, though now, he noticed, the cloak was slightly shorter in reach, what with Hadrian slowly outgrowing it. By next year, he would need to purchase a new cloak to hide his features in, or perhaps readjust this one with magic. It didn't matter.

Having left the noise of Diagon Alley behind, once more he found the lack of people in Knockturn more pleasing. He had learned the reason for this from Yvanna, what with the majority of shops having their main business hours starting up in the evening, until the first light of the dawn. The name fit the place like a glove, its denizens, inhabitants and chance guests more oriented towards night-time hours. During the day, the alley would remain mostly empty, and only by the sunset's passing would it start to fill out. The shop's owners would continue on the work that their employees did during the day, when less business passed their doorstep.

It came as quite a bit of surprise to Hadrian, to learn that Yvanna worked both the morning and the night shift as well. She never seemed tired out by it, always exuberant, always with a smile on her face, whether it be for teasing, comfort or just plain happy.

Coming into the _"Night Bird"_ made Hadrian's heart respond with a pang, as if he was returning to a place which he could call home. That might as well have been true, though not spoken out loud, for he never viewed the Dursley household as... home. No, the house was anything but home to him. But the living conditions at least improved as of this summer. And he had Yvanna and Vladimir to thank for that.

* * *

Yvanna was worried about her little one. She did not know that the person she was thinking about was even now making his way towards her hostel. It wasn't his arrival which she doubted or worried about. It was more for the state he might arrive in.

Just a few weeks ago, Vladimir and she sprang a surprise on the boy, meeting him at the station, before he returned to whatever muggle-infested place he was forced to go to. There was genuine confusion shown on his face once he spotted them, and then it was replaced by a faint smile. He did not rush to envelop her in a hug, he didn't get emotional at all, not like so many other children his age would have, should have, done in his place. But she could tell that he was happy to see them. So she made the first step, like the last few times, placing a hand on his shoulder and showering him with an honest smile, while Vladimir let loose a laugh of his own at seeing the boy's eyes react positively to the touch.

Whether on purpose or not, he had not yet removed his school robes and Yvanna's smile turned into a grin once she saw the colors of his tie and the badge that adorned his chest.

"Little one went on and became a little snake, did he now?" she teased him.

Oh she was pleased by that, seeing her own prediction coming true. Without much ado, she invited him back to the hostel for a day, before he had to return to his current residence among the muggles. He started opening his mouth, no doubt to protest or refuse the invitation, but she would have none of it and merely disapparated with him to the _"Night Bird"_. She and Vladimir had planned this, they knew that he would not get a reprieve during the summer unless he could protect himself adequately. And by tomorrow morning, he had the means, and most certainly the will, to do so.

* * *

Shopping for school supplies was going to be a problem, or so Yvanna had implied. Mostly because she kept him bottled in the hostel, for the first few days, making sure that he was alright, that nothing happened to him. All indirectly of course, under the pretense that she was curious if the nutrient potions did their work, she made him disrobe, this time of his own volition however hesitant it might have been.

His back was as she remembered it, littered with scars as one would imagine a battlefield would be littered with bodies of the dead. She had to restrain herself from tracing each and every one of them, knowing full well that he wasn't used to anyone touching him, despite the rare moments when he allowed her to embrace him and offer comfort. That back of his at least had nothing new to show.

That was just one side of the coin.

When she moved in front of him, her eyes wandered over the scars on his shoulders, then the ones laying across his chest, all scabbed over and healed, who knows how many years ago. But then her eyes widened. A new one. A new scar. A new scar on _her_ little one! There it stood, in plain sight, across his stomach and going slighty to the right side of his waist. It too scabbed over, his body's own magic at work no doubt, but the freshness of it was unmistakable. This time, she didn't restrain herself and her finger traced the marring of the flesh as he backed away, just a small wince, from the touch.

He didn't look her in the face when he spoke, "It's all right now. They couldn't do anything more than that," his voice was emotionless, a flatline, "I didn't let them. And I have the two of you to thank for it. For giving me the means to protect myself."

Yvanna trembled with anger, wanting to hiss, to spit, to curse, to do anything but just sit there in stillness. Above all, she wanted to find the filthy muggles and rip them apart, by wand, blade or hand, it didn't matter. But what she wanted is not what Hadrian needed. It took her some time to calm herself, not wanting to expose the boy, her little one, to an outburst of rage. He didn't deserve that. No one did.

What would have happened had she and Vladimir not taken steps to ensure his safety? Would she have even seen him again? Would she have seen him broken, bloody and lying in pieces? If that had happened, nothing in the world would have stopped her from doing more than just murdering the wretched family that did this to a small child. Death would be a mercy, that she would not see fit to grant, until they were repaid tenfold for his pain.

Another one of those rare moment happened, when Hadrian felt safe and pliable enough to let himself be pulled into that familiar and warm embrace, as Yvanna hummed an unknown tune, lulling him into a blissful nap.

* * *

It didn't last long, and the day was still young. Still, Hadrian hoped their business in Diagon Alley would be finished quickly, so that he could later on in the day go with Yvanna to the apothecary she mentioned, _"Zeran's Tooth"_, and look up some ingredients for extracuricular potion brewing. If he had one passion, aside from the Brown Book and general need to devour any form of knowledge, it was potions. Something about it made his fingers tingle, his mind would set ablaze and he always would have to keep in check the questions during the classes, back at Hogwarts, when he just wanted to know why certain ingredients were better when grounded, instead of just crushed into fine dust? Why slice, not dice? How exactly did snake fangs have the properties for the potion against boils? What would happen if the snake fang came from a venomous snake rather than a plain one? Questions of these kind tended to consume his mind. Even if it weren't for his need to learn as much as he could, so that he could survive further on in life, potions would be something he would pursue with vigor and without regret. In the back of his mind lurked a nagging reminder that one day he might have to ask Professor Snape for an apprenticeship, if he became skilled enough.

Oh he had no doubt the man would work him like a slave, but not the slavery that the Dursleys inflicted upon him. This was a slavery to one's passion. He had come to understand, throughout the year, the greasy-haired man, if only a bit, about his passion. And why he was abrasive, and often crude, towards students. To most of them, Potions was just another class, a thing which they needed to pass to go through school. To him, who viewed it as an art, as a life calling, it was an insult. He wondered what possibly enticed the man into the teaching position in the first place, if he disliked teaching the dunderheads of Hogwarts.

His mind snatched the wandering thoughts, placing them back into the safe and dimly lit labyrinth of his mind. Diagon approacheth. But this time, he was not venturing out into it by himself, as Yvanna's presence reasserted itself with a gentle brush of her hand against his shoulder. She had dressed rather elegantly for the occasion. Dressed to impress, indeed. There was a change in the way she walked, the way she talked, there was more dignity, more self-worth in her posture. It was a mask, similar to those of his own making. And she was brilliant at it. Her hair was pulled completely up in a tight bun, yet it did nothing to diminish the beauty she so easily claimed, and the dress she wore would not have been out of place on a noble woman, though Hadrian himself knew nothing of the fashion that they enjoyed. In a word, stunning.

It was like this that they greeted the crowd of Diagon Alley. Yvanna noticed from the corner of her eye how Hadrian tensed up when faced with this place. A faint smile appeared on her face at the thought that the boy felt more comfortable in Knockturn. But she suppressed the smile, lest someone misinterpret it, as she felt too much like an outsider in this place, unused to the crowd, the noise and their smells. The atmosphere in Knockturn was prefferrable to this one, even at night when its cobblestones were crossed by many a shady, or outright Dark, witch or wizard, as there was a number of unwritten laws in place to guide everyone through it safely and soundly. Provided you weren't an unknown, or outsider. Then you were fair game. Hadrian hadn't realized it yet, though he might soon enough, that Yvanna had plans for him to become acquainted with as many people in Knockturn shops that she could manage for this day, showing her silent support of him, and her protection if necessary, so that when he wanders down there by himself, as inevitably will occur, they would know better than try and tamper with her little one.

It was amusing to her, this whole situation. Vlad might have badgered her over the many years they have lived here, in Britain, about her providing him someone to spoil rotten, but he probably never guessed it would happen in this fashion. Had it not been for the unusual circumstances of their meeting, and then her taking him to Vlad's shop, Yvanna doubted that she would have meddled in the affairs of the young child so much as she did. Aside from the fact that Griphook had sent him her way, there was nothing that stood out when someone saw him, that they would feel the need to meddle. But he did stand out, in his own fashion, and she did feel the need to intrude upon his privacy. Years would come to pass, and she would never regret her choice for inadvertendly setting him on this particular path.

Their only destination in Diagon Alley was _"Flourish and Blotts"_, where Hadrian would buy the necessary school books, before they returned to Knockturn to finish the rest of his shopping. He had full trust in Yvanna and her words when she spoke that the rest of his supplies could be bought there far more easily and without the rush he would have to go through here. The only thing they didn't sell was school books, though that was for an obvious reason, as no one would willingly send their child down that way. The thought entertained Hadrian on some level, how easily prejudiced or frightened most of the witching and wizarding world were. His train of thoughts was broken before it began to form any further as he looked upon the crowd in front of the bookstore that he needed to go in. A frown nearly slipped by his control, but Yvanna's subtle wandwork at pushing the crowd aside to make way for them eased it down and soon enough they were inside the shop itself, which turned out to be more crowded than the outside of it. It didn't take much to discover why it was happening.

"Little one, it seems that we can 'thank' a self-aggrandazing buffoon for all this," she waved her hand towards the crowd that surrounded them, "An idiot that goes by the name of Gilderoy Lockhart seems to have a book signing today here."

Hadrian didn't miss the venom in the way Yvanna spoke the name, and thought the name sounded familiar to him for a moment, "Do you know him?"

It seemed like she wanted to spit rather than say the words, "Bah, know him? I had the distinctive displeasure of being at Hogwarts the same year he had gotten there, though I was in my final year. I swear, by godsblood, the boy was incompetent back then, unable to do anything with his wand other than wave it around, and it seems that fine tradition continued about for years. And the only reason why I remember the little brat is he happened to set fire to a particular set of robes that I wore."

He couldn't help but feel intrigued by this sudden burst of knowledge from Yvanna, she never talked about her time spent in Hogwarts, other than being a Slytherin, and now he was being figuratively showered in new information. She seemed to have glanced some of his thought process and gave him one of her faint smiles, "Be at ease, little one, I will tell you more once we are home."

In the confusion of new information, Hadrian didn't entirely notice the slight pang in his heart at the word _'home'_, but it was still there, noticed or not.

Once more, Yvanna's wandwork provided a path for them, and he let himself be guided by her, scooping up the necessary books for school. A new Transfiguration book, new book of spells, new Potions manual, new Herbology instructions... all was fine until he came to the Defence against the Dark Arts portion of his list. He stared at the list of books necessary for the subject for a good minute, before he checked the list over again, and then finally let out a small groan, his earlier vague familiarity with the name now finding the root for it, which Yvanna immediately took notice of.

"What is it, little one?"

Instead of replying verbally, he offered his school supplies list to her and marked the passage she should read with his finger. As she looked over the list of titles that were needed and the author that had written them, her eyes grew wider apart until her face turned stone-like in expression and only her eyes displayed the emotion that played behind the face. Hadrian knew well enough what was the cause of this. The name 'Gilderoy Lockhart' was attached to each and every of the seven books for his DADA class. "Break with the Banshee", "Gadding with Ghouls", "Holidays with Hags", "Travels with Trolls", "Voyages with Vampires", "Wanderings with Werewolves" and "Year with the Yeti".

Each title more ridiculous than the previous one and each one written by Lockhart. Why would Quirrell even order these books added to the list? He could only hope that when they went to class for the first time that year he would elaborate why this was added. Before they went to the counter, wanting to settle the dues for the books bought, Hadrian pondered for a second if he should try and look around for more supplemental books on Potions, but was dissuaded from the idea when Yvanna noticed his thoughtful expression and told him in a whisper that she already had something for him. That quickly ended that possibility and off they went.

It was safe to say that not many people were pleased by Yvanna's way of making the path free of obstructions, but one look at her face and whatever they saw was enough to make them silent, not voicing any protest or complaint about the treatment. Really, if they expected her to just willingly subject herself to the suffocating feeling of this place, and to be in the same room with a fraud such as this, where he would be showered with praise and gods know what else, they were more than just gullible. The shop owner looked at her like the others did, with a scowl on his face, which became rather subdued and then vanished once they took stock of her. Dressed like one of the arrogant and refined purebloods, they said nothing, fearing the possible consequences of misplaced words. Hadrian was content to wait in the background and give Yvanna the necessary amount of galleons for his books, eager to escape the confines of the shop.

"There, little one, all done now," Yvanna spoke softly to him and turned around to face him, the books now safely deposited in an expanding bag that she wore on her shoulder. No one could guess that the small bag was more than anything what it appeared, but Hadrian had seen how it was filled up with a number of things before they left the hostel, things which could definitely not fit in it if it had been ordinary.

"Little one? Oh this is good!" a new voice was heard from the nearby crowd. A voice which Hadrian sorely disliked recognizing, "Say, Potter, how _little_ are you exactly?"

Yvanna heard the words and the taunting tone to them, turning her head slightly to the side, only to notice a group of small children emerging from the crowd, lead equally by a redheaded, freckle-infested boy and another boy, this one with blonde hair and a roundish face. It took her a moment to notice why the boy seemed familiar, but when it did, the scar on his forehead so prominent and well known, she internally frowned. So this was their Boy-Who-Lived? Before she could reprimand the small group for ganging up on Hadrian, a most wonderful thing happened before her very eyes.

"Hello yourself, oh scarlet Weasel, what brings you here? I doubt it's school books, goodness knows it must be taxing as it is with what... two brothers that went before you, the three that are still in school and you trailing in their shadow? Why not just ask them to tutor you at home, I'm sure the twins would enjoy a spot of fun," Hadrian near-drawled with his polite mask in place.

"Leave him alone, Potter," Longbottom sounded off, looking more full of himself than Hadrian ever recalled seeing the boy. Maybe it was due to them not being at school, where the ever-lurking presence of the Potions Master seemed to delight in swooping over the boy and handing out point deductions or detentions. Initially, Hadrian thought the man unfair and heavily biased, but as time passed, he abandoned that foolish way of thinking, as that bias was the only thing that shielded the younger Slytherins from certain elements in the school.

"Hello to you too Longbottom. How's the toad? And how's Trevor too?"

Yvanna had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but the words apparently hit their mark, as both of the boys now thoroughly flushed and looked down at the floor. She observed this group of children that assailed her little one from behind his back so crudely. There was no need to guess what House they were from, their stance, their behavior, their lack of wit screamed Gryffindor as sure as their House colors screamed tastelessnes.

She watched the rest of the little group and how they were handling Hadrian's jabs at them. A girl, with curled brownish-blonde hair, started to open her mouth only to be cut down by another veiled insult from Hadrian before she had a chance to speak. This was a side she had not see from him at all, and Yvanna would gladly admit outloud, if asked, that it was a pleasant thing to behold. It was obvious there was some animosity between the group, for what reason she couldn't understand, though she hardly thought that Hadrian was the instigator. She knew him before he went off to Hogwarts, however brief it was, and he was a far cry from being a bully to anyone.

At worst, this constituted at putting the other children in their place and at best, it was merely shutting them up before they said something truly stupid. Plus, there was a sense of satisfaction at how he easily laid into the Boy-Who-Lived, making him speechless. Some could say he was being cruel here, but if one looked at the situation objectively, one would notice it was five to one here, and it was all started by that redheaded boy who obviously thought to somehow humiliate Hadrian in a public place. The little wretch must be regretting his words as the insults simply rolled of Hadrian's tongue.

However, enough was enough, and she placed a single hand on his shoulder, indicating to him that he should desist. Looking back at Yvanna, across his shoulder, he could see the mirth in her eyes, but also the request for him to stop. With a barely notcieable nod, he turned away from the group that stood behind them and headed straight for the exit. It turned out to be a good thing too as the last words they heard were _'It can't be, Neville Longbottom?'_ before closing the door behind them.

Melodic laughter escaped Yvanna's lips, and Hadrian waited for her to elaborate on the reason for it.

"Oh little one, you are pure venom," she praised him, laying down a single hand on his face, cupping his cheek, "Never let them put you down, never allow them to think that they could or should do that. There I was, worrying over nothing, when you so delicately silenced them without even going for your wand. We'll talk more of this after our shopping is done, yes?"

He only nodded in reply and tried to stifle the tug on his lips at the praise he received from her. It was still an odd thing, to be on the receiveing end of words like that, despite how some teachers at Hogwarts praised his schoolwork. That was their duty and this... Yvanna had no duty towards him. She said what she meant, what she felt earnestly and honestly. Without knowing what to call it, as he had never experienced it before, Hadrian had started to care for the older witch as he never cared for anyone before.

* * *

As promised, their next stop was the apothecary shop in Knockturn, and Yvanna nearly had to drag him out of there, while the day-worker was amused by the enthusiasm and questions that the young child before him kept displaying and asking. He encouraged Hadrian to come, if he had the time, later in the evening when the owner was in, as the man would probably accommodate the child's rather odd questions and needs for ingredients.

After that, Yvanna took Hadrian to a clothing shop simply called _"Witch and Wizard Wares", _a place far more comfortable than Madam Malkins as the girl that worked the day-shift there was not impatient with him, felt no need to rush him and even offered him a catalogue to browse through at a later opportunity. However, he left the place with far more clothing than he had gone in for, at Yvanna's insistence at buying himself more than just regular school robes. His wardrobe now consisted of seven different sets of casual, every-day robes, two sets of outer-robes and coats for the colder months in the year, along with trousers, shirts, three pairs of shoes, gloves and one pair of thick boots. Every item was of fine quality, though he had little knowledge in these types of things, but the constant praise from Yvanna about the cloth and the material they were made from, assurred him it was true. His pouch was significantly lighter once they left the place, and would need refilling before the first of September.

Before they could retire to the hostel for the day, or rather night, as the bright sky had been replaced by a fairly darker shade of sunset's light, Yvanna enticed him to going to one more shop, one that he would enjoy himself in. Curious about both what the shop was and what Yvanna was talking about, he found himself in a bookstore. Unlike the one they visited already on that day, this one had no people inside it, the inside of it was very similar, perhaps slightly less lit on the inside, though different in subtle ways that he could not tell. The owner was apparently already here and seemed to know Yvanna who chatted with the man, leaving Hadrian to roam amongst the bookshelves.

It was a somewhat confusing experience, the shelves had no plaques to mark them out as to their contents, so he found himself wandering from one shelf to another, often encountering unusual titles or even indecipherable ones, but touched nothing. He had learned back at Hogwarts that even books could be potentially dangerous. On one of his days spent inside the library, he had wandered into the Restricted Section by accident and got reprimanded by the matron of the library for being there in the first place. As if he knew that it was there. And if it was so Restricted, why had they not put up simple repelling charms around it? Anyone could walk into it and look around it, the trouble was when you tried picking something up from the shelf, which Hadrian did, and if you lacked the required permission slip, the books would quite loudly proclaim you as a thief, intruder, scoundrel and what not else in screeching voices that were fit more for how he imagined harpies and banshees would sound like.

His roaming was interrupted by the hand that laid itself across his shoulder, a familiar touch, but one from which he only slightly flinched from due to not noticing Yvanna approaching him.

"Come, little one, I promised you something before and it's done now. The book should be available within the first two weeks of September, and I will send it to you by owl post."

Answering with a nod instead of words, they left the shop and returned to the safety of the _"Night Bird"_.

* * *

The month and so that followed before his departure for King's Cross was somewhat hectic. There had been far more people arriving in the hostel, temporarily occupying Yvanna, and leaving Hadrian alone. Which he didn't mind entirely, it was in his nature to be isolated from others, in general, but on this particular occasion he found himself every now and again finding excuses to wander down to the front room of the bar, eating one meal down there or in the kitchen at least, where some sparse company was provided by the boys and girls that worked there. He had made the most of his free time, indulging in reading about the new spells they would learn that year.

A small amount of surprise was shown on his face as the book explained on how to build up more power in his spells with his wand, how concentration could help a lot, though it was not the only thing it required for the build-up. Specific wand movement would help draw out more power from his core, though experimenting too much with these techniques could lead to dire side-effects. The wording was similar to that of what he read so far from the Brown Book, and even shared some of the spells that he learned from it. 'Experliarmus' he already knew, as well as the unlocking, the fire-making, the light-producing and counter spells.

He did not know the tickling charm or the one that would transform an object or person, temporarily into a bird or bat, as well as a few other spells that were talked about in here. In the end, the book proved its worth as he took to learning them whenever he could. Naturally, he was careful with the fire-making spell, using only the minimum amount of power he could draw from himself for lighting a candle, delicately, so as to not melt it from the intense heat the initial flame might provide. It took him days to handle that one properly, getting acquainted with its wand movement and the way the words were pronounced, not to mention the volume.

He still found it amusing that some other students in his year, and the classes they shared, tended to shout out certain spells as if that would increase the potency of the spell. It did actually, just not for the reason they believed initially. The Brown Book elaborated on that as well. It mostly had to do with something called the placebo effect; let's say, someone were to cast the _Lumos_ by saying it in a normal tone. It might not work for the first few times in the way they liked it and then they would yell it out in frustration. The emotion that fueled that frustration also fueled their intent to make the spell work as intended and thus they would begin associating the way they spoke the spell, rather than the intent that pushed it forward out from their wand, with its potency. When he read about it for the first time, he was confused as to why they were not taught as much from the very start of their education. Did the teachers believe them incapable of learning?

Thoughts like these and others took much of Hadrian's time, leaving him in the confines of his room for most of the day as he pondered the theory and did the practical part of his books. There were only a few things which he could not practice from his schoolbooks; Potions, Herbology and Astronomy. For the first, he lacked a decent ingredients supply needed for brewing, and he didn't really want to test his luck at unguided brewing. Despite Professor Snape's abrasive way of teaching, he still managed to prevent most accidents from happening under his watchful gaze, and Hadrian wasn't exempt from it, though he always strived to learn from his mistakes.

For the second, he lacked the grounds where to work and the plants which to cultivate and care for. And to be quite honest, he only saw Herbology as useful for gathering ingredients for potions-work, getting to know the plants that were needed, knowing when they would provide the most potent parts of themselves, what parts of them could be harvested and so on.

The third.. well, he could fish out his telescope from the trunk that laid at the end of his bed, but he had no wish to stargaze much. The subject wasn't as boring as he presumed it to be, as they studied more than just the positions of celestial bodies, focusing on how these positions affected certain magical plants or creatures. Hadrian felt odd about the subject though, after a few lengthy talks with the Bloody Baron, who had indeed said that Astronomy could be a useful thing to know, though its curriculum was somewhat different from his days and thus found it lacking in certain aspects. Whenever Hadrian tried prodding further into the matter, the Baron would allow that smile of his to creep upon his aristocratic face and only push Hadrian towards more questions rather than answers.


	3. Chapter 3

_**1st of September, 1992**_

Once again, Yvanna offered to help him to Platform 9¾, and he thanked her for it. Despite the various enchantments on his trunk, which was starting to show a bit of wear on it, and how light it could be, he had no wish to experience the muggle way of getting to the platform. When Yvanna told him of two alternate methods, he quickly opted out of them, choosing side-along Apparition instead.

One of the mentioned methods involved stepping into a fireplace, then using a soot-like substance called Floo Powder, calling out the name of your destination and then throwing the powder at your feet, only to be engufled by green flames before you vanished. He had seen this in the hostel when Yvanna allowed some of the guests and passers-by to use her hostel's fireplace. Aside from the obvious uncomfortable feeling of going into a fireplace and doing so, once Yvanna told him that she disliked that method of travel herself, mostly because of the dirt that one would accumulate upon themselves, that idea for traveling was scrapped.

The other was the entrance from the muggle-side of King's Cross, which involved walking or running into a brick wall that stood between platforms nine and ten. He considered the idea idiotic, and told as much to Yvanna, her response being laughter, before agreeing. It was foolish to place an entrance there rather than somewhere where muggles didn't come by. But it was a necessity, as the muggleborn and muggleraised children would know of no other way to reach the platform.

The trunk now shrunk down, in his robe's pockets, and he was prepared as much as he could when Yvanna took his hand in hers, and with a soft _pop_ both vanished from _"Night Bird"_.

The feeling was still unpleasant to Hadrian, like a squeezed tube of toothpaste, though he noted the feeling was slightly less disorienting than the last two times he had experienced it, once when Yvanna brought him here the first time, and second when she and Vlad brought him directly from it to _"Night Bird"_ that summer before he had to return to the muggle house where the foolish Headmaster wanted him confined to. The words that the old man spoke still grated on his nerves. But thanks to Yvanna and Vlad's help, and their gift, the brief time he spent at the Dursleys was almost bearable. Though it was uncertain what his Head of House had reported to Dumbledore, once he finished with his visit. Time would tell.

Now, there was only a brief goodbye to be exchanged with the one adult that had shown some kindness to him, despite having no gain in it for herself. Again, the tug in his heart appeared, but this time it had not gone unnoticed, merely shunted away for introspection at a later opportunity, as now was neither the time or the place for such matters. There was still a train to catch, figuratively speaking since he arrived so early, just like last year. So he did the best he could, and slowly eased himself into a familiar position, falling into the embrace that she was always willing to provide... and the cost? Her fingers in his hair, tangled up.

"I will miss you, little one," she spoke softly before untangling herself from his hair, pleased that he was growing it out and his strands became longer in comparison to last year. Turning him around, face-front, she tucked a few of the errand strands behind his ears, carefully so as to not upset the glasses he wore, "Be safe, and write to me this year, if you have the time."

Not trusting his voice to not betray him, he nodded and the ache in his chest increased slightly. With one faint smile, she vanished with a silent _pop_ from sight, and he turned towards the crimson train, his thoughts swirling in a maelstrom of confusion.

* * *

It was in this state, of him pondering the actions, the gentle touches, the feeling of comfort, that Daphne had found him. So intense were his thoughts on contemplating the rather unfamiliar emotions that woke up in him, that he never noticed the platform outside filling out with more people, or the students that had passed his compartment without even entering.

Daphne herself was unsure what to think of. Again, he had changed. In some small way, one that she didn't witness, and the flame within her hungered. She had fed the hunger a steady diet of advanced knowledge over the summer break, her family's library was quite extensive, even more advanced than that which Hadrian indulged in the book that she sent him, for her studies had began in earnest before he even knew of the world of witches and wizards. Still, she was not one to ignore how quickly he learned, how fast he adapted. Adapted to the school, to the House they shared, to the knowledge it provided. It was a question she pondered sometimes when her thoughts wandered about the subject of Hadrian Potter; how he adapted to everything else in his life that he could not distance himself away from? So she fed the flame, fed it so it would remain in her control when she was near him, so that her curiousity about him did not get the better of her and expose her too soon.

It was something completely unplanned, the way it started out, her interest in him. She had plans, schemes would be the more appropriate word for it, about pursuing certain individuals once she got into Hogwarts, about subverting their influence into her interests, until the persons whom she subverted thought they were doing it on their own. If her mother taught her anything, it was that. However, she doubted she could subvert one Hadrian Potter the way her mother did to her father. He was far too cold, far too collected about social interaction with his and hers age-peers. She didn't doubt that his continued thriving depended on several factors outside of her reach, and it didn't sit well with her not knowing what those factors were.

Watching him here, now, and with hunger completely undisguised in her eyes, she conjectured that something of enormous importance must have happened to him to send him into such a deep state of thinking. He did not show this part of himself in the common room, it was most likely kept safe in his and Zabini's room, behind the bedcurtains. Perhaps... perhaps becoming somewhat closer with Zabini would prove beneficial. He was similar to Potter in a way, though far more sociable, and often she saw her own roommate, Davis, chatting with him about some thing or another. It would at least provide one additional path into becoming slightly closer to Potter. Or not. Zabini was not close to his roommate, no more than she was with Davis, though she let the girl enjoy the delusion that she was. Everyone had their uses, after all.

Deciding she wanted to break apart his train of thoughts, whatever it might have been, and wanting to keep the sight of this to her, and her alone, she masked the emotions that were quite visible in her eyes, schooling her facial features into the well known mask that the other Slytherins were acquainted with. Then she spoke.

* * *

"Potter," a voice broke through and for a moment Hadrian was unsure if the voice came from a memory or outside of his head. His eyes provided the evidence for the latter. And he cursed himself inwardly for allowing such a horrendous slip of control, he had indulged himself far too much in an unsafe environment. His face was then reasserted into the same polite mask that he wore for everyone, even the ones that he had no positive thoughts about, it was never a good idea to reveal what you truly feel for someone, or it would be seen as a possibly entry point, and then exploited as the weakness that it was.

"Greengrass," he replied back in a neutral tone, tipping his head slightly towards her, and waited for whatever she wanted to say.

Her face showed nothing, but on the inside, she smiled, enjoying the sight of patience displayed before her. He would not speak first, he would not try to engage in small talk, he would wait until the stars burnt themselves out before initiating things he didn't plan for. So she made it easier for him. This time.

"Have you finished your summer assigments from Snape?"

Hadrian was puzzled about this venue of approach. Greengrass never talked with him, aside from the occasional greeting, and the odd short conversation after the All Hallow's Eve feast, and their train chatter, which he barely thought of anything significant.

"Yes," he said, half-answering, half-questioning.

"Could you perhaps give me your essays to look them over? I'll give you my History of Magic in exchange."

His response was a single raised eyebrow for a moment, before he reached into the left pocket of his robe, pulled out his trunk and placed it on the seat next to him, before enlarging it and fishing out the essay she was talking about. He handed it over and in exchange she handed her History of Magic essay over. Frankly, Hadrian wondered why they bothered with keeping that class at Hogwarts. All they ever heard from the teacher were tales of the Goblin Rebellions. Yes, there was some other lesson snuck in occasionally, but he had an odd fixation with Goblins. So even he started taking short naps during that particular class, thus leading to his not so very well written summer homework. Looking over the essay that Greengrass wrote, he noted in his head where to add corrections to the misplaced battles, the dates for certain events and so on.

Though Daphne had asked him about his Potions homework, she didn't really need it. She was more than adequate, what with her mother being a Potion Mistress of her own, though of lesser renown than their Head of House. Still, it was a way into seeing how Potter fared in the subject. It was quite an astonishment to her, kept safely on the inside, once she saw how well written it was. It wasn't the mindless repetition one might copy straight from the books with some minor alteration. These were his words, sometimes in fumbled up sentences, yet still making perfect sense. He had written a few passages beyond the required length, but nothing for which their Head of House would chide him for, it was merely him citing from what sources he had quoted certain parts of the essay. It pleased Daphne that he was quite versatile in Potions, even though he outstripped her, but then again, her talents lay somewhere else that he would not be able to see for quite some time, if she had a say in the matter. No, that particular revelation would happen only when the right circumstances were brought about.

* * *

This time it was Zabini who arrived first, and saw the two of his House-mates comparing homework, talking in amicable tone with each other and adding their thoughts on the matter. He was greeted by both in a neutral tone, but a smirk had crept upon his lips while observing how similar they were in behavior. Apparently Greengrass had noticed his smirk and asked, cold tone replacing the previous neutral one, what was the cause of it.

"Oh nothing, just remembered something," he lied smoothly, and Greengrass buying none of it, while Potter ignored him completely. As usual. The boy that he shared his room with was still an enigma for Blaise. And Hadrian was happy to keep it that way. He felt no need for interacting with his roommate any more than what was the required norm for coexistence during the school year. Other than the Bloody Baron he felt no need for company. And now he had a new addition to it as well. Which brought his mind to how he would handle it when in school. Looking at Greengrass and Zabini, he thought about inquiring for their knowledge on a particular school rule or two, but opted for waiting until Davis arrived. Unlikely as it seemed, the girl might know something that the other two don't.

It didn't take long before she found the compartment and settled herself into a small, unimportant, chatter with Greengrass. It was interesting to watch how Greengrass warmed up to the girl, just slightly, allowing a softness, a cheerfulness one might say, to insert itself into her words, while her face relaxed just the tiniest amount, but apparently sufficient for the other girl. So they talked, and Hadrian was willing to let them talk it out, before springing his question on his compartment companions.

"How much do you know about the rules on pets at Hogwarts?"

Zabini raised his eyebrow at the question, as it was the furthest thing from his guess what Potter might have talked to them about. Davis merely cocked her head slightly to the side, while Greengrass remained the same and impassive self she presented to the world.

"Why do you ask, Potter?" Daphne couldn't help but ask. Another tidbit to feed the flame.

"If you answer my question and any that I might ask about it after, I'll tell you," he spoke in a subtle teasing tone, and allowing a tug on his lips to appear as if involuntary, as if he was relaxed enough to trust them with such an expression.

"Well," the Davis girl began without any semblance of a form, "You read the acceptance letter from Hogwarts, right?" Hadrian nodded in reply before she continued, "Well, you know that it says you can bring a cat, an owl or a toad, ugh who would be stupid enough to bring tha— oh never mind, Longbottom, anyway, you can bring either of the three and nothing more."

"Hmm...," was his reply for a few minutes while he pondered about the next question, "Yes, but that's the acceptance letter. Is there some more rules about the matter or is it evaluated per person if something falls outside of those three categories?"

"Nothing that I can think of right now," Davis righted her head back up and just stared at Hadrian, expecting him to elaborate.

But it was Blaise who spoke next, "From what I remember reading about it in _"Hogwarts, A History",_ you could bring something else into the castle, but you have to prove it's not dangerous to other students, or if it is it must not exceed the XXX classification provided by the Ministry. If it falls into the latter category, you have to sign a waiver at the school, with whomever is your Head of House and the Headmaster, that you accept all responsibility for whatever the 'pet' in question might do. Now, will you tell us the purpose for your question?"

"How about I show you instead?" Hadrian asked, allowing the tug on his lips to turn into a faint smile, "You can come out now," he said the words, while lowering his head towards his robes, while pulling them slightly away from his neckline.

The three of his House-mates looked at him oddly at first but once the head of the creature popped itself out, they all reacted differently to it. Tracey let out a very girly, though not loud, shriek. Blaise moved away from Potter as far as he could without exiting the compartment, while still managing to keep his own clothes prim and proper. And Daphne... she never changed her mask at all, but on the inside, the flame was fed and a wicked smile was etched into the glacier that surrounded the hunger.

"Everyone, this is Eagala, my familiar," he said while petting the serpent's head absently, though not without care, "I've bonded with her over the summer and decided I'd rather bring her to Hogwarts than leave her behind. Thanks to you," he nodded towards Blaise, "I now know for certain that I'll be able to keep her. Though I presume they'll want her kept out of sight most of the time."

By now Blaise had calmed down his nerves and took hold of his reflexes, allowing to move slightly closer to Hadrian, though not as close as they were before, "You have.. a very unusual familiar, Potter. I don't suppose you're gonna spring on us that you're a Parselmouth too?"

"Afraid not," he replied, allowing some mirth to flow into his voice, "She's just my familiar and the only reason why she responds to my words is because she can understand me. I understand her... it's not words, I don't understand the hissing at all, I just understand her through our connection. I'm not quite sure how it works, but it works. She's a boomslang, albeit a magical one. I'm not sure about her history, but she was apparently exposed to enough ambient magic, before or after she was born, and spent an unusual amount of her time among humans where she started to understand them. A... friend gave her to me and I gladly accepted once she also seemed to be in agreement with the arrangement."

"She who?" Davis now asked, her fingers pressing into the the surface of her seat, still somewhat uncomfortable with the presence of the snake in the now suddenly very, very small compartment.

"She," Hadrian replied and pointed at the serpent, still petting her, "Come now, Davis, don't tell me you're wary of snakes?" he teased the auburn-haired witch for her obvious discomfort, "And to think you're in a House full of them, it must make you awfully twitchy. Next thing you're going to tell us is you don't shed scales. Eagala," he turned his head upon the snake, "if you will, please move back inside of my robes, you can keep warmer that way and take a small nap. And it would be far more beneficial if Davis could start breathing regularly again. Just make sure you hold on tight."

The three were rather surprised by how the serpent almost seemed to nod at his words, hissing something in reply that none of them understood, and then retreated beneath the clothing from which she emerged before. Tracey's response to his parting jab was to blow a raspberry in his general direction.

What Daphne was more surprised about was how Potter faked sharing confidence in the three of them, how he shifted his face at the right moments, to make them feel at ease. Oh how she wanted to laugh at the very notion of it. If he knew but a fraction of her true intentions, making her feel at ease would be the last thing on his mind. At least, for now. Later, with the passage of time, it might change into a more favorable outcome. She realized he did want the answer to his question, that the question itself wasn't faked or presented to them for some false sense of companionship. There was just a tiny bit of regret in her that she wasn't the one to provide him with the answer, but it was quashed quickly and efficiently. There will be more opportunities to slither her way into his confidence. This was merely the first chance, and she was confident there would be others. Not to mention how he would react once she unveiled herself as the sender of the book. But not before the third sacrifice. Not before he uncovered the rest of the book. Not before sensing the change in him.

* * *

They arrived in the evening at Hogsmeade station, then settled into the same horseless carriages that made their way to the castle itself, though this time they weren't uncovered as they were back in June. It was only the beginning of September but a slight chill in the air was easily felt by all.

It was an unusual experience, to witness the Sorting Feast from a different perspective. Hadrian noted that the Hat sang a different song this year, perhaps it did that every time, before feeling a familiar chill settle besides him at the Slytherin table.

"Good evening, your Bloodiness, I hope the castle wasn't too dull during the summer," he spoke the words with genuine warmth.

"Good evening to you too, little snake. The castle is never too dull, Peeves makes sure of it. Tell me something, I have heard whispers from a few students that you have acquired a pet of sorts. May I see it?"

Hadrian nodded in reply and asked his new companion if she would greet someone that he trusted at in the school. A beautiful serpent, with large black pupils, surrounded by a small amount of red and yellow colors, making it look more like the eclipse of a sun rather than regular eyes, made its way, extending more than just its head, from beneath the school robes that Hadrian now wore. Her scales were divided into two separate colors though it intermingled with each other. The upper part of her body was of a dark forest, black-green coloration, while the lower part of her body had a more bright green to it, like that of the grass in the full splendor of a summer sun.

"A truly beautiful specimen, little snake. Though I suppose I might resort to calling you something else, lest the two of you be confused," the shade chuckled with rich tones, making the other students that sat near pay attention to what was going on.

As the shade and student continued their talk, filling in each other with small bits of irrelevant talk, they kept an eye on the Sorting, if for nothing else, then for the novelty of it for Hadrian. It was similar as the one from last year. Most students seemed to unconsciously, or not, avoid being sorted into Slytherin. With Gryffindor this year being in the lead, Slytherin ending up with only eight new students, and with a brand new Weasley addition to the Lion's Den, the Sorting was nearing its end. Hadrian couldn't help himself and observed the small redheaded girl, wondering if she would be like one of her brothers. Would she be a staunch idiotic representation of Gryffindor, like her brother Ronald? Or would she be a mischevious little addition to the twins? Or worst of all, would she be a female Percival? Strangely enough, Hadrian thought she might even strike out on her own, rather than follow in the footsteps of any of them. Well, as long as they didn't cross paths in a bad way, his interest would be ended with the girl on this night. There was a slight interruption in his thought process as he noticed that her brother, the one in his year, wasn't even there at the table. Nor was Longbottom. Their absence was noted and filed away for further examination, because as of now, the sorting was done and the feast began.

The feast didn't last long, as tomorrow was a work day, rather than a Sunday like it was last time, and it didn't end with ominous and vague warnings about painful deaths, from the Headmaster, if you wandered about in the wrong part of the castle. Merely more of his nonsense, presenting a grandfatherly appearance to the new students and reaffirming it with the old ones. The only thing of interest he said was when he introduced a new teacher. Hadrian's stomach felt unsettled.

Gilderoy Lockhart was their new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. A man about whom Yvanna told him quite a number of stories, of the amount of lies he tried to spew even in his first year at Hogwarts, so much that it even reached past the Ravenclaw common room and seeped into the other Houses. Who knew what the man did later on in the years? And now he was here. And Quirrell had retired, which sounded very odd. After an inquiry with the Baron, and even some other students that sat nearby, listening in on the conversation, he was told that the teacher for that post changed regularly, on a yearly basis. By now, it was a school myth that the position itself was cursed and that no one could go for two years in a row to teach the subject without retiring, dying or some third kind of excuse that always seemed to pop around. Which was at least some good news, as it meant that Lockhart, dressed in those bright sunny robes, sticking out like a sore thumb at the staff table, where most of the professors, other than the Headmaster himself, were dressed in more subdued colors, if not outright black like their Head of House, would not make it past this year.

Each of the Houses left, each in their own recognizable fashion. Tonight, Hadrian didn't need to stay in the common room, but did it nonetheless as there was a matter to discuss with his Head of House. A few students that passed him along the way to the boy's dormitory looked at him oddly for a moment before proceeding past the door. When Snape had arrived, he had delivered a similar speech to the last one, perhaps even the same one down to the letter, but Hadrian hadn't been paying much attention to the words so much as to the first years that looked at the man, some with trepidation, some with caution, and some already with masks of their own in place. For the first time he wondered how many of his Housemates, new and old, had learned the masks the way he did. But the thought was quickly shunted away, as he had no wish to ponder such depressive things right now when the crowd of first years was dispersing.

Severus had noticed the brat standing off to the side, illuminated by the blue-green luminosity of the lake's waters, watching as the first years were delivered his usual speech of welcome. It was a necessary thing, the sooner they were disillusioned about certain aspects of Hogwarts, the better. He always knew that more than just a few... innocents, if one could call them that, made their way into Slytherin. Perhaps they had met someone on the Hogwarts Express, talked with a few of the other children, promising nonsenses about friendships that will outlive whatever Houses they're sorted into. Childish notions. Maybe, a long time ago, this was a possibility, but now, after centuries of animosity and rivalry... and even more in the last twenty years or so, with the most memorable and powerful Dark Lord in recent history coming out of Slytherin... It was a most perplexing matter for Severus. How had any outside source known that the Dark Lord was a Slytherin? That made any friendship, if such a thing was possible for his snakes, outside of the House rather improbable. Not completely impossible though, he had seen a few of the Ravenclaws partake in some small form of companionship with his snakes, but the other two Houses? Severus would sooner proclaim the Longbottom brat a Potions prodigy and a better brewer than him, before that would happen. And he tried telling his snakes that they need not follow such a path, as he did in the past, telling them that these individuals that came out of their House did not shape their futures. But as was all, it all came down to a personal choice. A student would choose what to do, what not to do, and the best he could try is to show them all that was offered on every side of the coin, so to speak. For some, the coin didn't even exist, so set they were in their ways.

The speech was done and the children sent to their beds. All but one.

"Potter, I presume there is a reason why you have not gone to your room?" Severus asked with a stern voice.

Moving away from the wall, Hadrian approached the Professor, "I wished to inform you of something, Professor. It concerns the rule for pets that are allowed at Hogwarts."

Snape raised a single eyebrow, "Continue."

"I have been recently gifted a boomslang. A magical boomslang at that, and we have, quite by accident, bonded. She became my familiar and I her bonded human. I've been told that I would need to sign a waiver for her with you and the Headmaster, due to the fact that she's poisonous, and that she would be considered a XXX class creature, which could potentially harm someone. However, I am completely confident in her and can assure you, by any means necessary, that she will do no such thing unless in self-defense, or in defense of me."

Severus listened to the boy's words with the same expression on his face, while his mind turned the cogs ever so faster. _'So that's how he had improved his living conditions over the summer. Albus will be surprised, and more than that. It is better this way, the brat has found a way to bypass the laws for underage magic and guarantee his safety.'_

"I presume that your snake can understand English?"

"Yes, Professor. She can understand us talking, and I understand her through our connection."

"Hmm, and where do you suggest keeping such a specimen if you were allowed to keep it?"

"Mostly on myself, just like now."

"Potter?" Snape inquired, his eyebrow raising up once more and then the other nearly joining it once the brat called out to the snake, and it proceeded to slither outside of his robes, draping itself on his shoulders, the rest of her length coiling itself around the brat's chest. It took a few minutes for Severus to consider the probability of this blowing up on the boy and him as well should the snake act in defense, self or otherwise. It wouldn't matter the intent behind the attack, they would only see a Slytherin student who had used a snake to injure someone else, "We will see the Headmaster, together, before breakfast is served in the Great Hall. You will sign that waiver, and you will keep her out of sight. Who else knows that you have her on yourself?"

"Davis, Zabini and Greengrass, sir. Oh and the Bloody Baron. And possibly the rest of our House, since some did saw her poking out of my robes at the feast for the Baron's pleasure. And knowing the way the Hogwart's rumour mill work—"

"— the entire school will know by tomorrow afternoon. What's done is done, Potter. Though I advise you to be far more careful in your... ventures around the school, whether you have the Baron at your side or not."

"Understood, Professor. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Eight o' clock, Potter, in front of my office," the Potions Master commanded and left the common room.


	4. Chapter 4

Albus Dumbledore was not having a particularly good day so far. Events from last night hadn't helped matters either. He had noticed, quite early on, as did many others, that Neville Longbottom was nowhere in sight, along with his Housemates, Ron Weasley and the Finnigan boy. It was a distressing matter, but Dumbledore was sure nothing too serious happened, as Augusta, Neville's grandmother and guardian, would have reported something. Then came in Severus, dragging the three of them by the collars of their robes, promising suspension, at the very least. Dumbledore was informed about his presence and words by the portraits that he passed by and so he sat in his office, waiting for Severus to bring the boys to him.

It was an interesting tale they told, and Albus was inclined to believe it, as he sensed no lies from any of the children, though the Weasley boy did exaggerate some of the things slightly. Apparently, young Neville suspected a House Elf was being responsible for his current predicament. It started out in the summer when odd things started happening at the Manor, plants for which the boy dearly cared for acting snappish and nearly injuring him to the point where he could not return to Hogwarts in September. Then there was the fact that he had not received any word from his friends, which in turn made him feel quite depressed as he laid in his room, as the other four students, which Albus already knew about, had not sent a single letter to him. Which was proved completely untrue, once the House Elf in question made his presence known. It introduced itself, displaying quite an amusing personality, from what Neville told Dumbledore, though once he told that it was him trying to send Neville to St. Mungo and make him stay away from Hogwarts by stealing all of his mail, making him think they forgot about him, Neville nearly lost all coherence and almost attacked the Elf with his wand for making him think his friends had forgotten him.

Inwardly, Albus was pleased that the young Longbottom cared more for the absence of his friend's letters rather than the hostile behavior from his beloved plants. Still, it was a disturbing matter how the House Elf made it through the Longbottom Manor's wards. Augusta would need a talking to, and Albus would gladly offer up his aid in sealing up the loopholes the wards might have in them. Not all of them, of course, as he would need to leave one or two possible entry points for himself, should the boy somehow end up in a dangerous situation again. Eventually the Elf disclosed his name and reasons for doing as he did. Apparently, something bad was going to happen at Hogwarts this year, and as Dobby said _'The great Mister Neville Longbottom sir cannot be allowed to come back to school'_, which apparently justified near-maiming of the boy. Then once he failed to extricate a promise from Neville about not going back to Hogwarts, Dobby had vanished.

Thinking the matter settled, he had told his grandmother about it and soon enough recovered fast enough to be able to leave for Hogwarts, going so far as to reconcile with his friends, who thought he was ignoring them, that he visited the Weasley home and stayed there for a while, where he reaffirmed his friendship with the youngest boy in the home. He had been quite pampered by the Weasley matriarch, who almost-adopted the boy on the spot once she saw him. This little bit Albus was not told by either of the boys, but sensed the memory lurking just below the surface of their most obvious thoughts, and decided to prod in, just for the boy's safety of course, and was amused by the events there.

Neville was quite ingratiated with the rest of the Weasleys, even the twins and the newest student-to-be, little Ginerva, who seemed to had a bit of a hero-crush on Longbottom. Once more, Albus was pleased by what he saw. The Weasleys were a decent and caring family, one that would help Neville along his path when needed, but also allowed themselves to be guided by Albus' advice in certain situations. This is where Seamus Finnigan came into the story. As he was a half-blood, but raised mostly as a muggleborn for most of his childhood, the child often went to Platform 9¾ via the entrance on the muggle side of the King's Cross station. As an effort to rejuvenate the friendship with the boy, Neville and Ron had agreed to meet Seamus at his house, where his father, a muggle, had then taken them to the station via his car. Neville and Ron were oddly fascinated by it, though Ron was less so due to his own father's dabblings into muggle stuff.

The three boys reconnected easily on their way to King's Cross and were then left at the muggle part of it, as Seamus' father couldn't go through it on his own and he had a previous arrangment to keep. That's where things began to be troublesome. It was Neville who tried first running through the barrier between platforms nine and ten and was met instead with a solid brick wall. The same thing happened when Weasley and Finnigan tried to make their way. In their frustration, one of them, though Albus had an inkling it was the Weasley boy, suggested they fly to school on brooms.

Thankfully, one of them had enough sense in them to suggest that they would freeze or fall asleep in such a long journey to Hogwarts. Then the Weasley boy struck again. They made their way to the Leaky Cauldron, used the Floo and went to the Weasley's home, as they knew they couldn't simply Floo straight into Hogwarts without being previously allowed to do so by the Headmaster, where no one could be found, as his mother was on the other side of King's Cross, escorting his sister to the train, and his father at work. Deciding it would be worth the risk, they took out a Ford Anglia from the garage in the Weasley's backyard. A flying car.

Albus would have laughed if the situation weren't quite so dire. They used the flying car then, which was driven by Ron, to make their way towards Hogwarts. Unfortunately, they had been seen by no less than eight muggles and ended up in a small section of a tabloid, which dabbled in mostly things no one seemed to believe in, that even had a picture of the car flying. Obliviators sent from the Ministry had a busy day then, but no warning about the matter was issued to the Boy-Who-Lived once Albus clarified some parts of it, though not all of it. It would not do well to alert the Elf's master about current events. Then they crashed into the Whomping Willow when they finally arrived at Hogwarts and Severus had been the first to spot the commotion. A light headache was throbbing on the insides of Albus' head, as he fervently wished that the young Gryffindors before him were somewhat less rash in their nature.

Though if they had been less rash in their first year, they would have never gotten to the third floor, past all the obstacles that Albus set up there, with the aid of his staff, and stopped Quirrell from obtaining the Stone. Even had they not managed to do it on their own, Albus was already there, under a dissillusionment spell, ready to provide help if he deemed the children were in danger. He had to test the boy, it was vital to know what his character was like, how far he would go to stop a threat to the school, how far would he would go to prove he was his father's son. Though they were misguided at first, and thought that Severus was the one after the Stone; the thought alone brought out a short chuckle from the Headmaster.

Nonetheless, they had stopped Quirrell. In a most unusual way, Albus would have to say. Quirrell could not touch the boy, his skin turned gray and then black, as if charred by an intense fire, causing great pain to the man who nonetheless tried his best to strangle the boy. Dumbledore was unsure of why this was happening until a final scream was heard from Quirrell and a wraith suddenly departed from him. Possession. Ah, Albus had suspected something was odd with Quirrell but he never guessed the extent of it or he would have offered the man his aid in any way possible.

It also explained why he was hurt when trying to touch the boy. Voldemort was, as he initially suspected, still alive, in a manner of speaking. He did not have a body of his own, but could apparently possess someone, most likely only if they freely gave themselves to him. What had tempted the young Quirinius to subject himself to such a ghastly treatment? Voldemort was never a kind master, and Albus doubted that he showed any leniance towards his body-host just because he shared its flesh with him. Still, what's done is done, and it confirmed another of Albus' theories, about the protections left behind by one of his parents' sacrifice.

Pulling his thoughts away from that particular topic, he went back to reexamining the story they told him. They could have used Longbottom's owl and sent him the message about their problem. Or even an owl to Longbottom's grandmother. But apparently the boy didn't want to upset his grandmother, so alerting her to the situation was the furthest thing from his conscious mind. Ah, Albus knew Augusta very well from his Wizengamot meetings. She was a stern woman, a true matriarch, if there ever was one, of the Longbottom family, proudly representing them in the courts of law and otherwise.

Though the woman could be stubborn at times, as she proved when it concerned the boy's wand. Thankfully, Dumbledore had received a report from one of his contacts, that were close to the Longbottoms, about the boy's wand. His grandmother wanted him to use his father's wand, wanted to see the boy continue his father's legacy with it. But Albus knew if he allowed that to happen, the boy would be significantly weaker, as he needed a wand of his own. So he continued to spring surprise visits on the boy and his guardian, throughout the year before his school supplies shopping trip, always subtly implanting a notion or two about how important it was for the boy to get his own wand, and it finally took the suggestion that they perhaps should place Frank Longbottom's wand into a display case at the Ministry, where it could be easily shown to any visitor, showing what a hero the man was in his final confrontation with Voldemort. That won over Augusta rather quickly. Imagine Dumbledore's surprise when Olivander contacted him with a note, saying that the brother wand to Voldemort's wand was sold to the Longbottom child. That proved his actions were well founded indeed.

His thoughts turned back to what was said further on to the children in his office, before he sent them off to bed. Dobby. Dumbledore inquired with one of his contacts at the Ministry for the register of House Elves, a small matter that no one really paid any attention to in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The division which took care of that particular aspect of the department was a minor one, only two people worked there, most likely pushed into the positions so their political careers could wither and die without anyone noticing. It didn't take too long to find out who was Dobby's master. And Albus became infested with worry once a particular family name popped up.

His headache seemed only to increase once he brought his mind to bear on the meeting from the morning. Severus had informed him early on that Harry wished to speak with the Headmaster for some reason or another. He suspected Severus witheld the reason for the meeting for his own amusement. It was safe to say, Albus was not amused. He originally thought the boy wanted to talk to him about his change of opinion about his muggle guardians. He donned his grandfather mask on, so eager and ready to get somewhat closer to the boy, to see him become more like his parents. But what greeted him once the boy followed in the wake of his Head of House was anything but what he expected.

Severus had brought some sheet of paper with him, and young Harry looked as distant as he ever was, despite what his outward appearance might have shown. Dumbledore's initial expectations began to crumble and were completely sundered once the boy named his reason for coming so early to the Headmaster. A frown and a sign of worry nearly slipped past Albus' control of his facial features once the boy presented the serpent, calling it out from beneath his robes. He explained it was a familiar of his, and with a casting of a certain spell from Albus, the boy and the snake glowed red for the shortest moment, confirming the boy's claim of the familiar bond. Dumbledore didn't like it.

The boy refused to elaborate on where he got the snake from and when did he get it. Not quite so directly, but he had a way with words that reminded Albus of another boy, a boy that he had failed so many years ago. It was a small blessing when he explained his way of communicating with the snake, the way that most people did with their familiars. That alone was at least a relief, but still troubling. Albus tried to make the boy see his point about keeping her confined to the Slytherin common room, but the boy refused to listen, saying it would be a cruelty that he would not inflict on anyone, forcing them to spend their existence in a single place without the means to venture out.

His eyes had an intensity to them during this brief explanation on why he would not confine the snake to a single room. In the end, they came to an agreement; he would not allow the snake to be seen too often by other students, outside of his common room and sleeping quarters, other than when it was unavoidable, and she would be kept most of the time beneath his robes keeping him safe and he would keep her warm and well fed. When Dumbledore pointed out that he didn't need to be kept safe in a school, of all places, he had only received a repetition of his words from the previous year about a possible death to any who would venture to the third floor and a reminder of the muggleborn girl that nearly ended up dead at the hands of a troll that 'wandered' into the school. In the end, Albus relented with his questioning and let the boy be, adding yet another worry to his already preoccupied mind.

Snape on the other hand enjoyed himself during this brief morning visit to the Headmaster. The brat proved quite fluid in evading direct questions, and didn't show an ounce of trust in whatever Albus said to him. He had to stifle a tug on his lips, as it threatened to turn into a full blown smile, when Potter repeated the warning from last year about the third floor, and how upset Albus was at his own words thrown back against his argument that the school was safe. Severus had some concerns about the snake the brat would carry with him as well, though his reasons were different from Albus'. When it was fully out in the open, Potter would possibly become even more of a target for some of the other Houses. He didn't expect Ravenclaws to act on any prejudice against snakes in general, but Gryffindors and Hufflepuff were a different matter. The latter would simply avoid him even more than they did after the retribution he visited upon their errant members, and the former would only seek to provoke him, most likely trying to injure the snake in the process. If things escalated to the point where even the Baron's presence proved inadequate for protection, he would need to take a hand in the brat's education. It was an outcome which he found himself, unexpectedly, leaning towards, as it would provide more insight into the riddle that was Lily's offspring.


	5. Chapter 5

The first day of classes was uneventful for the most part, aside from more than the usual amount of glances thrown Hadrian's way. Even his fellow Slytherins were less than subtle, as if they expected a show, but relented when it became obvious that he had no intention of calling out his familiar in the throng of people.

He was constantly aware of her presence, her cold reptilian body coiling itself around his chest, wrapped multiple times in a tight, but not uncomfortable, stranglehold. Eagala only sought the warmth that his flesh would provide and he had taken to casting, on occasion, a few mild warming charms on his clothes, making sure that she never felt unsettled by the castle's chilly atmosphere.

During the short breakfast he had attended to before receiving his schedule from Professor Snape, Hadrian observed the quite animated bunch of Gryffindors on the other side of the hall, and in the center of it all Longbottom, Weasley and Finnigan. They were talking about something, not bothering to keep it down during the early hours of the day, and parts of it reached even the Slytherin table. Flying cars? Maniac House Elves? Did the Boy-Who-Lived finally snap under the burden of his fame and start seeing things? When he voiced this question to the Bloody Baron, he was not the only one to respond with laughter, his own Housemates joining in once the jab was passed down the table to their ear's reach.

That was not the only cause for laughter on that morning. A letter, a bright red envelope, was delivered to the Gryffindor table, and those how knew what the letter signified explained it to the rest of their Housemates. A howler, one of the other students in Hadrian's year had said. The purpose for a howler was apparently complete and total embarrassment of one's own children. What followed was nothing short of what was expected. It seemed that there had indeed been some flying cars involved. Other things were said, _'... step one toe out of line and it's back home for you, Ronald Bilius Weasley!',_ but the conclusion was a hearty laughter had by all except the Gryffindor table.

Once breakfast was done for, he looked over his schedule for the year. Again, they seemed to share an unnatural number of classes with Gryffindors. Hadrian had ventured a guess to one of the older students, after the day's classes were done with, in the common room how this probably started rather recently. Even the older years seemed to share quite a few classes with Gryffindors. They had some interaction with Ravenclaws, with whom they shared Astronomy and Charms. Hufflepuffs had Herbology and History of Magic with them, and Gryffindors occupied the other slots, Transfiguration, DADA and everyone's favorite class, Potions.

Today was going to be a double block of Transfiguration, followed by a free period, and then another double block, this time, of Charms. After that, they were free to return to the common room or roam the castle until curfew hour. Hadrian, after turning in his summer assignments to each of the respective teachers, both of them commending him for his succinct work, had been joined by the company of the Bloody Baron and once again vanished from the student-infested hallways of the ancient castle, venturing, as he did the year before, into the unknown parts of it.

The Bloody Baron was apparently in a charitable mood today, as he had told Hadrian that the castle itself sometimes shifted certain classrooms across it, mostly the unused ones, across the floors. It made Hadrian's plans shift its goalposts slightly, but decided to go along with it anyway. For many had believed that his wandering of the castle was simply due to his lack of need for socializing with other people, when in fact he had begun a slow, but steady process of mapping out as much as he could of the castle. The latest information revealed to him by the shade only made him more determined to learn the castle's secrets, and it made him wonder why no one had thought of doing this before him. It would most certainly be a valuable commodity to have, once the work was done, both for the first years that would arrive when he had it ready, and for some of the older students when they wanted to roam on their own. His work would pay off and he could easily pocket various favors from students, whether for his pursuit of knowledge or something more. But the knowledge would go no further than his House, and to no others than that he wanted to. That in itself was going to postpone the finishing touches of the map, as it would need to be keyed in a certain way so that it only worked for the person that received it, he had no wish for his hard-work to be mercilessly copied down by those he deemed unworthy. It was unlikely he would finish the map before his third year he ended, as the map and the copies that would be made would require implementation of Runes, of which he had very little knowledge of.

The day ended on a nicer note than he expected, as no one approached him to ask about his new companion and he could tell that Eagala was enjoying the peace and quiet, her content flowing through the connection that they shared. He'd returned to the common room an hour before curfew was set into effect and proceeded to enjoy relaxing the aching muscles in his legs from all the roaming around, by sitting down in his familiar armchair, though this time he moved it closer to the fireplace, letting the heat from it bask over him. The effect was nearly instantaneous as Eagala eased her grip on him, which had been tighter in the evening hours, as the chill seeped into his clothing, and now slithered her way out his clothes and into his lap, where he petted her with genuine care and affection in his eyes.

Not for the first time, he looked at the creature before him and thought how beautiful she was. And how faithful. Without her, the time spent at the Dursleys might have ended on a more devastating note than just the new scar on his stomach. At the time, she was trailing in behind him through the front door and Vernon had not seen her at first, so he lashed out wildly at Hadrian, striking him with his belt, and nearly throwing him against the wall. But the second blow for which the whale of a man raised his hand, never came down.

His attention was turned away from the boy and onto the snake that now quite visibly rose into the air and allowed its neck to flare up, baring her most prominent fangs, allowing drips of venom to fall down onto the floor. When he tried moving around her, she jumped onto him, made her way around his neck and hissed, promising a very agonizing death should he try something else. His horror only increased once he realized the boy was standing up and talking to the snake, and it proved too much for the man who refused to acknowledge anything but the mundane in his life. From then on, Eagala had cowed the Dursleys into obedience. You could almost say they were house-trained.

And he didn't regret any of that. Not when his cousin soiled himself that first time he thought to get away with a new round of 'Harry Hunting', not when the woman that dared to call herself his Aunt had nearly been bitten. No. He would never show any compassion for the family that had tormented him for eleven years of his life and damned be the old fool of a Headmaster that suggested the fault lied with him and not them. As long as she was with him, as long as he was with her, he would endure the brief summer stays in the household that made him into what he was today.

* * *

The act of her slithering outside of his robes had not gone unnoticed and many had an odd look in their eyes as they viewed one of their own, one whom they knew had no affection for any people in the castle, stroke the reptile with his facial features relaxed into something they had only seen in mock-terms, turned onto others; a smile.

Daphne herself was not sure of how to process the day's events. Once more he had gone out of the common room and roamed the castle, and now that he had returned he was being quite open in his affection towards the serpent that laid coiled up in his lap, it quite frankly confused her. Was this the change? Was this all that made him go so deep into thought that he hadn't noticed her entering the compartment? No, there had to be more. He was far too comfortable in expressing his emotions towards the serpent. The hunger rose up inside her and she promised it, silently, to soon feed it with someting new, calming the stoking inferno that threatened to rise. Daphne knew that some people could not put a hamper on their provoking and taunting of one Hadrian Potter, and she would make sure that she was there to witness the aftermath.

Blaise was slightly worried about the newest addition to the room where he would spend his nights in, but trusted that Potter would not let loose his familiar upon him if he did nothing to warrant it. Glancing around the common room, he hoped a certain girl would have the same common sense and restrain herself from provoking him. No matter what waiver he might have signed to the Headmaster, he would not know of anyting that happened in the Slytherin common room unless the people involved approached him. It was how things worked, for a long time now.

Tracey's mind fluttered about, from one thing to another. She and the rest of the girls in her year, barring Parkinson, Malfoy and Daphne, had already heard the whispers spoken by the other Houses about Potter. It wasn't all that much, but the year only started, and that was the only thing they had for now. There was no doubt more and more rumors would spring up about the rather isolated boy as the year went on.

And Delinda Malfoy herself was a very conflicted twelve year-old girl. She despised Potter with an intensity she had never felt before. A part of her recognized that lying to her own Housemates on that one night wasn't the right thing to do, but she was a Slytherin, the other, much louder part of her would retort, why should she worry about the 'right' thing? So she ended up being humiliated, though the word never spread about it outside of the common room, she saw how differently the others watched her, how her family name cowed less and less people by the day. _'Potter was just lucky, that's all,'_ her mind would try to justify the events of that day and the others that followed. Even though she knew that luck had very little to do with the way the half-blood wielded his talon-like branch of a wand and stuck her to the wall while subduing her bodyguards with the promise of further violence. Had she not despised him, had he not been of such low birth, she might have come to amicable terms with his existence, given enough time.

How little they knew.

* * *

The next Tuesday greeted Hadrian with a surprise of its own.

While he was reading through the Potions schoolbook in advance for the double Potions block tomorrow, and Eagala rested in his lap, enjoying herself despite the lack of natural sunlight to warm her, a presence towered over him. It was an uneasy feeling, and Hadrian carefully put his book away, waking up Eagala in the process, just in case, and looked above him. The student that stood right next to his chair seemed familiar for a moment, before Hadrian's mind came to full-wakefulness, from the Potions-induced haze, and identified her as the Prefect he had asked for directions last year. Moon was her name. He couldn't remember the rest of it, as he was not on cordial terms with anyone in Slytherin to use their first name.

It seemed she was waiting for him to voice his question first, but she would be denied the fulfilment of her expectations. Hadrian intended to give no quarter to anyone, Housemate or otherwise.

Finally, she seemed to have given up on trying to prod the boy in front of her and spoke, "Potter."

"Moon," he greeted her back and waited for her to continue.

"Will you be trying out for the Quidditch team this year?" Mellisa opted for the direct approach.

This in return only got a raised eyebrow as a reply, before he voiced his thought, "Why would I do such a thing?"

"Your father," Mellisa said, "was a damn good Chaser for his House in his time. It often happens that talents like these get passed through the family."

"That's... an interesting information. But again, why would I do such a thing? Surely you've noticed my lack of interest for the sport, I've never even been to one of the games from last year."

Mellisa very much wanted to smile at the boy's evasiveness, but kept her face neutral, with just a tinge of interest displayed on it, "What I'm trying to say is you would probably be a good Chaser, like your father, or maybe even a Seeker, since you have the build for that position."

"And...?" Hadrian teased the Prefect, pretending to be ignorant as to why she might even be asking him all this.

"And you might bring your House, _our House_, glory if you at least tried out for the team and got on it," she said.

"I have no interest in the sport. Nothing against flying itself, just don't feel like hovering in the air and getting chased by bespelled-balls that could easily break my bones or throw me off from the broom while I was Merlin-knows-how-many feet up in the air," he drawled on purpose.

"That's what we have Beaters for. They'd look out for you and the rest of us."

"Yes, but, again, I have no interest in the sport. Or to put it in terms that _our House_ understands best; I have no reason, no incentive to bother with it, no personal gain. Trying out for the team and, even worse, getting a spot on it would only deduct from my free time which I treasure a lot."

Personal gain, that Mellisa could work with, "Well, what do you want?"

"What are you offering?"

It was this conversation that quashed out what little nagging doubts some Slytherins might have had about their snake since first year. No one thought, after today, that Hadrian Potter belonged anywhere else but in the viper's pit. It took nearly an hour until negotiations were brought to an end and it turned out that Mellisa Moon had quite a veritable supply of things to offer to the second year Slytherin, though most of it was of no interest to him. When she nearly ran out of things to bribe him with and mentioned offhand, not really meaning it, that the only thing she had left was her permission slip to the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library, you could have almost imagined a light shining in those dark green eyes at the mention of it.

Mellisa waited patiently for him to ask her about it, smirking on the inside how she finally had something he wanted. The words she expected never came, only a polite repetition that he had no interest in the sport and that she had nothing to offer as an adequate payment for his involvement in it. She felt mild irritation at her failure to rope in Potter for the Quidditch team. Truth be told, she didn't think he'd make a good Chaser, his build was more suited to the role of a Seeker, and if they could have gotten him on a broom to test him out, they'd find out where his specialty lies. Now that wasn't even an option. Perhaps next year.

Hadrian's thoughts were completely occupied for the rest of the day with the Restricted Section and how to gain access to it. He knew that his Head of House would give him the permission slip, but it would also allow him to be monitored, no doubt what he checked out of that particular part of the library would be known to the Headmaster, and he didn't need the Bloody Baron to tell him that was most definitely not a good thing. So he decided to wait. Someone might eventually come to him and ask for a favor, and this would be his only price. Until then, he would try what little else he could think of opening the third and final part of the Brown Book.

* * *

Defence against the Dark Arts proved to be a useless class under the 'direction' of Gilderoy Lockhart. It was clear to most of the student body, barring a certain percentage of young witches, that the man had absolutely no clue in how to teach the subject and worse than that were his books and exams. The books themselves read more like muggle fiction, Hadrian noted, than actually anything relevant for the class; there were mentions of spells, potions and various other techniques with which to survive or fight against certain creatures in the world, but all of it was vague, as the books focused far more on the self-aggrandizing buffoon than on spellwork. And his written exams, if one could call them that, were about him, not the subject itself. More than once Hadrian felt tempted to verbally lash out against the man, but knew that confronting a teacher, no matter how incompetent he might have been, would only hinder his academic progress, whether by earning detention or by loss of points.

There was only a single redeeming factor about the DADA classes; Lockhart seemed to fixate on Longbottom and included him dramatic reenactment of events from his books. Even Hadrian couldn't help but smile of the sight of the blonde wearing a poorly conjured up costume to play the part of a werewolf, and the incompetent teacher performing a non-existent spell to turn him back into a human. It was obvious to all that he didn't enjoy the attention that Lockhart seemed to lavish upon him, and would often keep him after classes for one reason or another.

In one of the subsesquent classes that Slytherins shared with the Gryffindors, Lockhart decided to let loose a swarm of Cornish Pixies out of their cage and then promptly abandoned them when the chaos from such an action ensued. Hadrian himself was unharmed, as were most of the Slytherins, who decided to leave the classroom once the cowardly Professor was out of sight. The Gryffindor Quintet, as they were now known, were amusing to watch, fighting off the onslaught of Pixies as if they were an army.

There was one instance of a pixie that seemed to dive straight at Hadrian, but before he could whip out his wand and stun the annoying little thing, Eagala reacted first, springing from beneath his collarline and biting the creature on its head, before it fell down on the floor, convulsing as the venom made short work of it. More than one student felt shivers run down their spines when Hadrian picked up the, now dead, body of the Pixie and asked his serpent if she wanted to eat it afterwards perhaps, to which she hissed something and he replied he would dice the creature up, to make it easier on her digestive system. It was a disturbing sight, to see one of the most reclusive and emotionally subdued Slytherins show such obvious affection in front of others, in the middle of the hallway outside the classroom. Naturally, someone couldn't resist, wanting to repay the boy for the lashing he had received back in the bookstore.

"Hey Potter, found yourself a girlfriend there, have you? Of course, what else would you get as a girlfriend, other than a snake?" Ron taunted, almost puffing out his chest as he did, while making sure that his friends were still near him.

When Hadrian turned towards the source of the taunt, absently caressing the serpent, he merely raised an eyebrow and replied, "Why do you ask, Weasel? Longbottom's toad finally tired of your advances? After all, it can't be a coincidence it runs away every time you are nearby. Must you force yourself so often upon the poor amphibian? Doesn't your rat fulfill its purpose anymore? Which makes me wonder if his frail appearance is indeed due to his, supposed, elderly age or because of certain activities that he has witnessed or perhaps even been forced to participate in."

The ensuing laughter from all of the Slytherins present, and a few Gryffindors, who didn't manage to restrain themselves, made Ronald Weasley's face match his hair in coloration. Soon the shade of the Bloody Baron floated through one of the walls, his face etched with amusement, and settled by the side of his little snake. This set off the various groups of students and the hallway emptied unnaturally fast, each group heading their own ways, while the shade, the serpent and the Slytherin went off once more into the unmapped portions of the ancient castle.

* * *

The rest of the classes Hadrian glided through easily, receiving encouragement from a few of the teachers about studying advanced material, thus excusing him from the homework the rest of the class would normally be subjected to. Potions, however, were a different story. From the very beginning of the year, Professor Snape had tried to pummel into their brains the importance of not mucking around the classroom as the potions they would be working on were more volatile than the ones from last year, and no one really wanted to know how much of the place could Longbottom blow up this time. In fact, the Potions Master told them quite clearly that should anyone break the record for blown up and melted down cauldrons, set in the previous year by Longbottom, he would give them detention for the rest of the next year. This apparently cowed even Longbottom enough, and the accidents lessened in quantity, though not quality. In one particular instance, while they were all brewing Swelling Solutions, not only did the cauldron melt down, but the table and the floor beneath it also received significant damage, while Longbottom himself avoided any harm to his person. This did not prevent Professor Snape from sending him to the hospital wing anyway, and deducting points from Gryffindor, not wanting to tempt fate and see what other disaster that the Boy-Who-Mucked-Up-Potions could instigate.

Longbottom's absence from the classroom proved highly beneficial, as even the Gryffindor dunderheads seemed to focus better on their work when not worrying about the imminent explosion from the Boy-Who-Lived's cauldron. Unknown to all of the students, Snape had gone on to Dumbledore and tried to reason with the man to remove Longbottom from his class, going so far as to even promise him an A grade for the rest of the year, and the years to come, but the old man would not be moved from his opinion that the boy would learn from his mistakes, and seemed to believe that chuckling away at these situations would somehow, magically, resolve them.

A few others, Hadrian included, had started receiving subtle guidance from the Potions Master on how to better their potions after classes had ended, and would often end up saddled with advanced homework, while being dismissed from their regular duties. The others would groan, but Hadrian would always allow a faint smile to appear on his face and nod his head towards his Head of House, a gesture of respect. More often than not, Snape would grudgingly admit to himself that the brat advanced even faster than the rest of the students in his year, and often felt tempted to give him even more advanced material to work with, but whenever he would bring it up in staff meetings, he would be told, by the Headmaster, not to put too much pressure on a child, and Severus would scowl in return but found himself acquiescing to the old man's 'advice'. After all, it's hard to go against the wishes of someone who holds the keys to your prison.


	6. Chapter 6

Once more, students from all of the Houses left their common rooms, left the library, by their own volition or by Madam Pince's wand, left the various alcoves of the ancient castle and made their way to the Great Hall, where a feast would begin. Once more, All Hallow's Eve approached.

Each House approached their table differently; the Gryffindors, loud in cheer and open in their camaraderie with each other; the Hufflepuffs, equally cheerful, though slightly more subdued, glad to spend the evening with their friends in a jovial mood; Ravenclaws, somewhat enthusiastic about the feast, though not overtly excited as the previous two, they came to their table in small groups until no seat remained empty, and many of them carried books with them; Slytherins, all together, all in one group, sharing some small talk, looking as if they'd be anywhere else but here, taking their places in silence, wanting the whole thing to be over already.

* * *

There was someone missing however, Daphne noticed. A certain student and a certain shade that almost never left his side. Though it would not be easily seen by others, at first, she noticed. The hunger in her awoke at the thoughts that went through her mind. _'Where is he? Does this have something to do with how he acted last year?'_

While she looked over the hall and the place that Potter and the Bloody Baron usually occupied, she missed seeing the pensive look on their Head of House's face, as the man contemplated the brat's absence as well. _'It isn't unreasonable that he should not wish to be at the feast. After all, this day is the eleventh anniversary...,'_ Severus mused about for a moment, before snapping the errant thoughts away, not allowing himself to think about the past too much lest it burden him with a new wave of guilt.

The Headmaster rose, spoke his usual speech and the feast began for all but one, her hunger unabated. It seemed like such a calm evening, students sharing jokes with their friends, chattering away about schoolwork, about how their days went. It was not to last.

Sometime in the middle of the feast, one of the side-doors in the Great Hall opened and in came, running, the school's caretaker, one Argus Filch. Everyone could see clearly the man's panicked expression and the slight sheen of sweat that coated his balding head, his coat flapping wildly behind him as he rushed towards the Headmaster. Without so much as a nimble of sense for decorum, he broke the evening's calmness.

"Headmaster, he murdered her!"

Immediately, the whole student body focused their eyes and ears on the scene that unraveled before them. It was plain to see that the Headmaster's previous mirthful face was now transfigured into a frown and obvious worry, before it slid back into the concerned grandfather look that he so easily wore.

"Come now, Argus, calm yourself, take a breath," he spoke, while rising from his chair and going towards the upset man, who still had not calmed himself properly.

"But Headmaster, he killed her, I saw him!" Filch continued to yell out, not even noticing that every eye in the Great Hall was upon him.

Deciding it would be best to resolve whatever issue plagued Argus, Albus took the man by his forearm and dragged him outside the same door that he came through, the staff following in his wake and in theirs a large portion of the students as well. It was an odd sight; no one thought to reprimand the students, to keep them in the Great Hall or at least tell them to go their common rooms. The disruption befuddled many a mind.

All Hallow's Eve was going to be a very memorable day for Hogwarts this year, as it was the one before it.

They all followed the caretaker as he frantically tried to run off to wherever he was leading the Headmaster, but couldn't free himself from the older man's rather firm grasp. It took them about ten minutes roaming the hallways, all walking the same path, as if enthralled.

Daphne Greengrass would question herself at a later opportunity why she followed in the wake of the mob, but she would not regret it. As the people in front of her finally stopped moving at some invisible line that no one dared cross, she made her way forward, subtly sliding between the students, older and younger, wanting to sate at least a part of her hunger with a small morsel. But what greeted her eyes was anything but a morsel.

For there stood the Headmaster, and at his sides Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and the caretaker, all four of them directing their eyes at the scene. The scene of crime, as it would be dubbed later by some, was the dimly lit hallway in which they all stood, and hanging from one of the empty torch handles by her tail was the familiar form of Mrs. Norris, the bane of all students at Hogwarts, old and new. It was a most odd sight, how it hanged there by its furry protrusion. Yet that was not all that occupied the eyes of all that were present now. For beneath her something was written, foot high, in blood-red lettering on the smooth surface of the wall, the light from the nearby torches reflecting against it and illuminating it.

_**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED**_

_**ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE**_

Just then, when Daphne's eyes wandered away from the words on the wall, did she notice another two whose presence almost went unnoticed as they stood to the side, not making a sound nor attempting to be seen. They were not part of the crowd of students that arrived from the Great Hall and her earlier thoughts about Hadrian Potter returned in full force. Though he had lashed out, verbally, and only once with his wand, in the previous two months, against other students, the flame within her that hungered for more had never been properly sated, she had not seen a flicker of his true thoughts and emotions other than the ones he displayed, without a shame, towards his familiar. At times she would see him place the palm of his hand on his chest, as if he held something across it, and at first she merely thought him petting the serpent that so often laid hidden beneath his robes. But on different occasions, mostly in their common room, she had seen him repeat the action, not often but repeated nonetheless, when the snake laid in his lap. That too was another curiosity about Hadrian Potter, one which she fed gleefully to the flame, so sure of some hidden meaning behind the gesture, as he was never one to express himself in such a way before. She watched him now repeat the same motion, while the shade besides him almost-placed its hand on his shoulder, as if providing silent support. But support in what?

Her introspection on what Potter's presence here might signify didn't last long, broken as it was by the school caretaker's words.

"There he is, Headmaster! There's the little murde—," Filch shouted, waving his arms and pointing at one Hadrian Potter, turning the students', that stood behind the teachers, gazes towards him.

"Enough, Argus. Let us hear him out first," the Headmaster calmed down the man as he approached Potter, "Harry, my boy—," he began only to be interrupted by the student.

"Mr. Potter, if you would, Headmaster," he spoke in a flat, emotionless tone, the usual politeness gone from it and Daphne almost licked her lips at the sight. There was some previous animosity here, for she had never heard or seen him speak like this to any of the teachers, and there was no obvious reason for why he would do so to the Headmaster, so logic concluded that there must be some less than pleasant shared past between the two.

The Headmaster smiled, amicably so, before continuing as the interruption never happened, "Could you tell us what has happened here? Argus has been a bit... incoheren—"

"I'm not inc- incho- I'm not babbling, Headmaster! I found the little murderer there, standing in plain sight over the corpse of my Mrs. Norris, just as you see him no—"

"Silence, Argus. Let the boy speak first before you judge him like so," the Headmaster seemingly pleaded with the caretaker for silence, while allowing the judgement to go on behind his back, rumors already spilling among the crowd. She could almost taste the tension in the air on her tongue, rising in volume, instead of calming down, "Now, if you would...?" he indicated to the boy that he should answer the question.

"I was returning from the fourth floor, from one of the abandoned hallways, when I —"

"Why were you there and not at the feast, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall now inquired, fixating her sternest gaze at the boy as if to reprimand him. Daphne saw not a flinch or a fidget from him, his face locked in the same polite expression that he wore nearly all of the time.

"I was not at the feast, Professor, because I... did not feel like attending, and as my presence there is not mandatory, I felt no need to announce my absence from it," the polite inflections in his voice returned when addressing the Deputy Headmistress, and Daphne knew that she was not the only one noticing this.

"Of course it is mandatory, Mr. Potter. It's been so for many years now," McGonagall said, slipping slightly into heavier use of her native Scottish accent.

"No, Professor, it is not. It is considered mandatory, but upon checking the school rules I found no mention about such a thing."

His words brought out the students from their momentary stupor at watching the scene unfold in front of them, having never heard before of this, which naturally set off the Ravenclaws in the crowd chattering about else might not be in the rules that they were told to conform with as if they were such. The Transfiguration teacher didn't seem to be pleased by his answer for some reason.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, it is not, as you say, strictly speaking, in the rules, but it is encouraged. It has been deemed decades ago that the evening would be spent in the Great Hall, amongst your fellow students."

"Deemed by whom, Professor?"

"Deemed by my predecessor, Harry," the Headmaster intruded into the conversation, allowing a smile to spread on his face as if he was on pleasant terms with the student in question, though everyone else but him seemed to notice the student had no wish for such pretenses.

"Mr. Potter, if you would," the traces of politeness vanishing once again.

The Headmaster sighed then, forfeiting the small verbal battle for now, "Very well, Mr. Potter, would you at least agree to stay away from the unused parts of the castle?"

"Why, Headmaster?"

"It is not safe for students to wander about places where the staff usually doesn't venture. If you were to injure yourself somehow...," he left the rest unsaid, but it was not left that way.

"I was not aware that roaming the castle, in places which have not yet been designated as a possibility of a certain and painful death, was unsafe," he said, and Daphne smiled at the insult, obvious to all, yet indirect enough so that he could not be punished for it, "I was merely on one of my walks with His Bloodiness talking about the school itself and how much of it remains unused and unkempt, most likely due to mismanagment that happened in the past."

The elderly man didn't seem to press whatever agenda he had in his mind any further, so he merely asked the next question, "And what did you see when you came across this hallway, Mr. Potter?"

"The same as you see. A cat hanging by its tail on an empty torch-handle. Nothing more, Headmaster."

"He lies, Headmaster! I know he does! Just let me have him in the dungeons for five minutes, he'll talk—," the caretaker shouted at the second year Slytherin, whose face now lost the politeness that framed it and looked the very antithesis of politeness.

"Oh, so now my talk is requested, is it, _squib_," he snarled the word out, surprising the staff and students with a display of malice uncommon to the student in front of them, "First you come down this hallway, screaming out like a drunkard or a madman, you choose which, after all you know yourself best, then you threaten to have _my_ _head_ for an imaginary slight that you conjured up in your unbalanced state, then you attempt to manhandle me and drag me to the dungeons for a 'talk' as you so kindly say, and only when His Bloodiness prevents you from doing so and actually tells you how to do your job do you listen, because Merlin knows what might happen if a _squib_ gets touched by a shade of such stature such as he? Who knows, you might simply spontaneously combust and we might find nothing more than ashes left behind. But hey, we could always sprinkle them on top of your... pussycat and you could be together, forever."

"_MISTER POTTER!_" a screech from McGonagall was heard, as the Headmaster himself was stunned into silence, a reminder of a boy from half a decade ago fresh in his mind, "Disrespecting the staff will not be tolerated! 20 points from Slytherin for such misbehavior."

"30 points to Slytherin for keeping a cool head about you, Potter, and waiting for the staff to arrive," added Snape with his silk-steel tone, "Merlin knows what some other, _less reputable_, students might have done in your place. Probably fled the scene," he finished, obviously hurling the insult towards the other three Heads of Houses who suffered the indignity in silence for a moment.

The whole thing started to devolve as voices from both staff and students overlapped across each other, and the Headmaster finally recollected himself in the meantime, "_**Silence! **_Students, back to the great hall or your common rooms, I will not have this kind of behavior in the hallways. Severus, Minerva and Mr. Potter, please, after me."

Daphne sorely wished she could be a fly on that particular wall, wherever they might have went, sating herself even further than what was provided tonight as justly deserved deserts. Despite the previous inactivity on his behalf, this night was bound to create rumors for one Hadrian Potter, and she would make sure that she was there to witness the change.

* * *

The crowd dispersed as swiftly as it came about and Hadrian followed in the wake of his Head of House, silently thanking the man with a nod for his support in public. Snape acknowledged it and merely moved on, while McGonagall had levitated the cat's corpse along side her. He had to restrain himself from smirking when Eagala commented that the old woman probably did it out of some odd sense of kinship.

In the end they didn't go to the Headmaster's office, as Hadrian originally thought they might. They were in the hospital wing and Hadrian waited by the sides, the comforting presence of the Bloody Baron and Eagala easing his nerves slightly, smoothing them out from the previous confrontation. After a while, and some discreet talks behind privacy spells the Headmaster, the Deputy Headmistress and his own Head of House turned to him.

"Tell me everything that you saw, Mr. Potter, when you arrived at the scene," McGonagall repeated herself and Hadrian felt his nerves tensing up again, patience crumbling away.

"I already did, Professor. I saw the same scene as you did, nothing more. Is there a reason why I, a second year student, could be more perceptive than the illustrious staff of Hogwarts?"

"Mr. Potter, I will not warn you again, speak like that in my presence and points will be deducted, no matter how your own Head of House might try to compensate for them," McGonagall tried to subdue the boy.

"Very well, Deputy Headmistress. I will mind my tongue then, if you properly restrain the caretaker. He has been rude, vulgar and violent in his approach. He had accused me of doing the deed when my only fault was being in the corridor. I will not accept behavior like that, especially when I have done nothing to earn it."

And now McGonagall found herself subdued by the boy's words. Harsh they might seem, but he had a point, and being fair to a fault was her flaw, "Filch will be... instructed in the proper behavior, Mr. Potter. But I expect better conduct than you. Your mother—"

"— is dead," his cold tone acted as a wave of icy water splashing itself against the audience before him, "I never knew her. I never knew her or my father. My parents were killed by deranged followers of an even more deranged man with severe delusions. I do not know what you wanted to bring up with the example of my late mother, but avoid resorting to such tactics. They have no effect on me whatsoever and only serve to irritate, and make me lose whatever respect I might have for you. Professor," he added at the end, barely restrained by Eagala's tight hold on him from lashing out with more than just words.

The three of them now stood there looking at the boy, and not just McGonagall found herself being crushed by the boy's words and the brutal truth behind them. They spoke no more to him and he was dismissed by the Headmaster, the shade not leaving his side until the boy was safely in his sleeping quarters.

The flames of the rumors spread so easily and so wide even before the night was done.

And all one boy had wanted that night was to erase the feeling of the painful tug in his heart, that he felt at the mention of a mother he never had. A boy who went to sleep, comforted by the cold touch of a shade and a serpent's coils.

* * *

On the next day, his mask was in place, even firmer than before. Even the slightest comment from any student that passed near him was met with venom he usually only offered up to the worst offenders. More than one person had flushed up in their face. His words were heard by students and staff alike. He didn't care. Though someone did. Someone who wanted to fan the flames higher and come close so she could warm herself, and sustain her own flame. Even by indirect means, things which had nothing to do with her, the boy was being shaped into something which she found herself desiring more and more with each passing day from then on.

Eagala sensed the swirling of magic in her bonded, how volatile it seemed in comparison to when they first met, and the tendrils which would escape his control from time to time would end up being devoured by her own being, making her swell with unseen power, stored for later use, if needed.

During breakfast, the Headmaster rose from his seat and commanded for silence from everyone.

"Last night, something happened on the 2nd floor, I imagine many of you have already heard the rumors about it, but let me assure you they are quite untrue. Mrs. Norris isn't dead, she is merely petrified, and even now, our Professor Sprout will cultivate her mandrakes to make the cure so that Mrs. Norris can return to her usual duties."

Not all were pleased by the news that the feline menace of the castle, the other one that is, will continue to stalk them again in the near future. Until then, it was open season, as many students who liked to roam after curfew, or in places where they shouldn't be, were always found out by the cat's invasive ways. And as some would later say in the day, curiosity killed the cat.

The student body's curiosity however was unabated and unsatiated. All of the teachers had heard one question throughout the day.

What is the Chamber of Secrets?

And surprisingly enough, the answer came in the most clear way from a Professor no one really expected to answer anything on the subject. Binns. The man was a dreadful bore even when he was alive, making even the bloodiest of the Goblin Rebellions as dull as cabbage, and when he actually did die, without even noticing that he did so, he merely continued going to class as if nothing was out of order, and were it not for his spectral presence, and floating through walls and doors, the students wouldn't have noticed the change either, as History of Magic had been everyone's favorite class for taking a pleasant nap or brushing up on homework for other classes.

The ghost of Professor Binns informed the students, who had to badgered him with questions, about the subject they wanted to know, for ten minutes straight before he finally relented from droning on about the Goblin Rebellions.

The Chamber of Secrets was apparently one of Salazar Slytherin's... well, secrets. Due to some disagreement with the other three Founders, or so the theory goes, Slytherin had left the school, but not before informing them all that he had left something in the school, a place where only his Heir would be able to enter and with which he would bring the school to its intended greatness. Many took his words to mean that the Heir would purge the school of muggleborns, as Salazar had a well known animosity for the majority of them, and having been proclaimed in the latter centuries as the figurehead for the pureblood movement, which was only growing in size by then, and seemed to not be stopping. In the end, the three Founders, and countless Headmasters, after they were gone, had thoroughly searched throughout the school, never finding the fabled Chamber of Secrets and in the end the story became a school legend, something that was retold to every new generation, though none of them would witness its opening in their lives.

* * *

It was not just the one solitary Slytherin who was impacted by the rumors that flowed away from the Hogwarts rumors mill. The whole House was now on something akin to a neighborhood watch, constantly watched, every move observed, until they returned to the safety of their common room. The situation was tense, to say the least. But it was manageable.

Hadrian became aware of the glances he garnered from the rest of Hogwarts now. Whether it was just due to his presence at the site of the petrification or the verbal confrontation with some of the staff, he didn't know. Both Eagala and the Bloody Baron kept their eyes open, taking great care to sense, scent or see any potential threat to the one they both had bonded to, each in their own way.

The teachers were somewhat less amiable to him, whenever their eyes came across him, subtle frowns graced their faces, as if disapproving of the events of last night. Only Professor Snape and Binns didn't change in their behavior around him, though it was a safe bet the latter never even noticed him, while the former, in his own recognizable fashion, kept adding more to his workload. It was a distraction that Hadrian welcomed.

* * *

It happened again. Barely a week had passed since the petrification of Mrs. Norris, and many a student had been pleased by the news from Professor Sprout about her mandrakes; they would not mature for another six months, and so the student body was rid of the furball that brought down more detentions upon their heads then any other teacher, barring the Potions Master.

Now those were news about the maturation of the magical plants were anything but a reason for joy.

A Gryffindor first year, a muggleborn at that, by the name of Colin Creevey had been found petrified. This time, the petrified body was discovered by their own Boy-Who-Lived, when he had been returning from the office of Professor Lockhart. It brought out an uproar in the castle. The incident involving Mrs. Norris was one thing, as no one liked the feline menace, barring her unofficial spouse, Argus Filch, but the newest event brought out the murmurings, rumors and outright accusations of who was responsible. Two of the Houses were unanimous in their beliefs at who had done the deed, while the third House stood by the sides and did nothing, neither stopping the accusations nor participating in them. That is the way of things in Hogwarts, and has been for some time now, because when the others believe them to be the guilty ones, then surely it must be the truth. Where else would the Heir of Slytherin reside but in his ancestor's House?

* * *

On that same night, their Head of House had ordered all of the Slytherins, years one through seven, to be present in the common room. He watched every one of his snakes, and saw the tension, caution, fear and in a few, barely concealed malicious glee, that nested in their eyes, their facial expressions and their body postures.

The events of today were enough as they were, but then that wretched Malfoy girl had exacerbated things even further. She had been one of the students who arrived at the site of Colin Creevey's petrification, one of the few Slytherins present, and the girl had apparently lost whatever little common sense she possessed and said _"...the first mudblood to go,'_ loud enough so that the students and staff that stood near heard her. The docking of points and the detention issued was irrelevant for the moment. Now every one of his snakes would suffer for her carelessness. Judging by her disheveled looks, and of the two training wheels that Malfoy Sr. assigned to her, and the way the small clique she had established stood apart from the rest of Slytherins, it would seem she had been reprimanded in a way by her Housemates. Though this would not spare her Severus' wrath once the main talk has been concluded.

"By now, you have all heard the news. Another petrification. Though of some you may laugh, in privacy, at the latest victim, do not be fools and use whatever... wits you have to do so only in places where you cannot be heard or seen. I advise you not to laugh at all, but in the end it is your choice alone. Otherwise, another blow will be struck against our House," Severus' eyes bored into the Malfoy girl, who had perhaps felt some self-guilt for being so uncareful in front of others, "And we will be further tainted. Already, the cast of blame is laid at our feet, already have the other Houses, even the Ravens, began judging us anew. From today, trust no other House. Leave the common room, the classrooms and the library only in groups of four, no less and preferably even more. Do _not_ wander the hallways by yourself," his eyes now focused on a certain second year snake, "Do not leave the classes by yourself. If you need to visit the bathrooms, go with others of your House," Severus noted how many of his snakes seemed uncomfortable with the idea, and proceeded to cut the problem at the stem, "A little indignation will be less harmful than the hexes and jinxes you will be subjected to if any weakness is uncovered by others. Until the matter is resolved, you will obey these words or shall I see fit to assign you detention until the end of your education at Hogwarts, and rest assured I will always make certain that there will be cauldrons for you to scrub away, without the use of magic," Severus finished what he ordered the assembly for and dismissed all but two of the students.

"Miss Malfoy," he started off with a sneer and a scowl combined on his face, "Pray tell, what possessed you to act like a such a _Gryffindor_ in front of the other students and staff earlier today? I would have thought that one such as your father had managed to instill something resembling cunning into you. Pity," was what he said, but pity was far away from what he felt for the child in front of him, "You will have detention with me for the next week, and I expect you to be in my office every evening at eight o' clock. We shall discuss there what the punishment for your lack of wits will be then. Dismissed," Severus waved the girl off, not caring whether she had a lump in her throat from the verbal humiliation he just delivered to her in the presence of another student. The child was far, far too arrogant for her own good, but then again with Lucius Malfoy as one's father, it was a regrettable fact; he could only hope that during the upcoming detentions she would heed some of his words for the future. Now though, he had one more snake to deal with.

"Mr. Potter," he began, the harshness that inflected his words just moments ago nowhere to be found, "While I am aware of the company you share in your traversal of the castle, and do believe you capable of defending yourself from certain elements in the school, this new element is beyond you. I advise you, though I will not force you, to adhere to what I have said tonight. I'm well aware that you are not particularly close to your Housemates, but in these times, the only thing you can place a modicum of trust is them, me and _our House_."

Snape did not expect a verbal assent to his words, and Potter merely nodded his understanding and affirmation that the words were heard, but would they be heeded? That, only time would tell.


	7. Chapter 7

Unknown to Severus Snape and the other Slytherins, Hadrian Potter took the words his Head of House offered to his heart. He would still play the part of a distant student, and would not strive for any sort of intimacy, companionship or friendship with others. In a talk with the Baron, he had concluded that joining up with the three he knew the most of all in his year would be the best course of action. The Baron would still accompany them, unknown to the other three, just not in plain sight. There was also the additional protection that Eagala could provide, if needed, though Hadrian did not wish such a situation inflicted upon his closest of companions, for her response would leave someone either paralyzed or dead, and no matter how often the Headmaster and others tried to play the unbiased role, there was no doubt in his mind that they would take her away and kill her, and quite possibly see him expelled.

The thoughts about their 'fairness' dissipated when they went through the next few days of classes. The teachers did not give out points as much as they usually would to Hadrian for his work in their classes, the rest of the Slytherins would also get ignored in favor of whichever House shared the class with them. There was no look of malice about the Transfiguration Mistress, Professor Flitwick or least of all the Hufflepuff's Head of House, but their behavior had changed, just the right amount that their previous fairness had vanished without a trace. And the fact that they made it look so naturally, like it has always been so, solidified Hadrian's suspicions that this was a thing that happened quite often. Slytherins, it would seem, would only be treated fairly only when it suited others.

And it reached far past the staff of Hogwarts. The students of other Houses had no inclination to hide their hostility and animosity, though in the case of Gryffindor they never did, but the most disappointment for Slytherins came from a House that was a in a way similar to their own, if not simply closer in terms of inter-House relationships, who had started giving the whole House odd looks and glances, which only seemed to convey distrust and disgust. None of the Slytherins ever voiced their feelings and thoughts of the betrayal by Ravens, they were not an emotional lot, after all, and preferred to keep things at a distance in general. When the thing was over, eventually, they would not forget the absence of their once silent allies. When the thing was over, none would offer them recompense.

* * *

In a way, Daphne found herself pleased by the way events were unfolding. Whether it was Professor Snape's words or some self-preservation instict that drove Hadrian Potter into a faux-companionship with Zabini, Davis and her was irrelevant. What mattered was that he was close enough to her now, and she had a valid excuse for the glances she stole at him. Even in this loosely knit quartet, he had made no attempt at socializing with any of them. Occasionally his eyes would pass over hers, malachite meeting jade, but then they would move on, and he would miss a glimmer in the green eyes of the witch that had high hopes for him.

There was one incident that had concerned Daphne; when they had been leaving the DADA class after yet another wasted hour with the idiot of a teacher, Potter had stopped abruptly when they were some distance away from it and told them to wait for a few minutes at that spot. It was most likely the unusual tone of voice, the way his words sounded more than just like a request, that rooted them to the spot. He had vanished around one of the corners in the hallway, and later when she revisited the memory and the place itself Daphne would wonder why he had gone to the girl's bathroom located on that floor. He had returned, as promised, after a few minutes, not a change in his appearance and simply rejoined them, setting their quartet in motion without explaining his odd behavior. The Davis girl, Daphne noted, wanted to know what it was all about, but only received silence in return as Potter continued to ignore her, eventually wearing out the ever-gossiping girl in the end.

It was only by sheer coincidence that Daphne had found out what happened to Potter when he was away from their group. The Carrow twins, two girls of a rather sharp look one might say, soft brown hair, hazel eyes and a bit of tainted past of their own due to their family name, were apparently separated from their own group for a short duration, due to their need to visit the girl's bathroom, for one purpose or another. They had thought that the sight of the two of them together would deter any potential intrusion, but it was proved a misguided notion.

Their own group had already moved away from the bathroom area, and told them they would simply meet up in the library, thus leaving them vulnerable to the pack of Gryffindor girls who had entered into the bathroom behind them and decided to berate, insult and even start to jinx one of the twins. Before the jinx's incantation was complete, the offender was flung away to the wall, knocked out by a red-streaked spell and left alone while the other girls were being dealt with. Some might say that this was an unfair tactic, striking one from the back, but had anyone said it, they would be proclaimed a hypocrite of the worst kind.

The other girls stood no chance, but they at least managed to turn around and spot their attacker, who having seen their frightened and shocked faces wasn't deterred at all from his course of action. Quickly enough, the other four girls joined the first one, slumped down on the floor, before they were all stuck to the wall several meters above the ground, the word _'Coward'_ seared onto each of their black robes. To say that Flora and Hestia Carrow were surprised by this most unlikeliest of saviors was an understatement. Hadrian Potter wasn't one to meddle in the affairs of others, and they had wondered how he even knew about their troubles. Before they could voice even a single word, of gratitude or query, the boy had simply nodded in their direction and left the bathroom.

Daphne wished to know how he had known this too, as they were a fair distance away from the place where the short-lasting spell-barrage happened, and well out of sound's reach. Was it the Bloody Baron? Was it that serpent of his? More importantly... why did he care?

A shiver had traveled down her spine as a few more other Slytherins, in their own year and some of the first-years, had brought up in whispers, that they believed went unheard by others, about being saved from situations like the ones that the Carrows found themselves in, in the coming days, by a person whom they would not name. To her a name was no longer needed, and so her hunger was fed. An unexpected behavior from a boy who had shown no inclination for befriending anyone in their House. Some would claim that such behavior was unhealthy, but Daphne was not among those. She believed in solitude, by choice, building up more than just a person's character and it was an odd thrill to know that their very own House had harbored someone like Potter, so unassuming and so distant from them all. It was a secret that only belonged to him and her, and she had no intention of sharing it with anyone.

* * *

The secret, which was no secret at all in the end, was not to last. A double block of Transfiguration had just ended and groups of students, the divide among them more clear than just in the colors that marked their ties and the badges they wore on their robes, were making their way to the Great Hall for a short reprieve between classes for some and a spot of late breakfast for others. Daphne herself was among neither, wanting to go back to the common room, no matter that she would need to go back up from the dungeon floor when the recess had ended. Lately she had found herself feeling irritated by the number of looks thrown her way, far more than she was accustomed to.

The feeling of being pushed roughly out of the way irritated her even more. She quickly spun around, wand in her hand, ready to let loose with a string of hexes, and maybe a curse or two if the culprit grated on her nerves from before. Once she saw who pushed her away, her resolve to curse the person responsible faltered.

"Potter?" she inquired with genuine confusion in her voice and on her face formed a frown.

She received no reply as his wand appeared between his fingers, gliding out from his robe's sleeves, and he fired off a string of hexes of his own in her direction. Barely even hearing what spells he was using, she froze, disbelief replacing the confusion in her expression. Just as the more rational part of her mind reaffirmed control of her motor functions, telling her to duck down and retaliate, the hexes flew by the sides of her head and the reflexes her body almost engaged in were aborted, as she now turned around and saw a sight which cracked her glacial facade and allowed a smile to appear.

There on the floor laid the twitching forms of Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan. From the welts on their faces and their spasming hands, she could see traces of the stinging hex, covering more than just one spot. While the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived laying on the floor, so thoroughly defeated, was amusing by itself, it still did not explain why she was pushed by Potter. Apparently, Davis saw as much on her face and elaborated.

"Potter pushed you out of the way of a spell, no idea what it was, and took the brunt of it himself in the chest. It seemed to have been aimed for him originally, but you moved in the way of it. Is there something you want to tell us Daphne?" Tracey decided to tease her roommate, "Is there a particular reason why Potter would so gallantly rescue you?"

Before Daphne could shut her blabbering mouth up, a spell flew from Potter's wand, forcing Tracey's mouth shut and the look that he sported on the face was the same polite mask he wore as usual.

"Davis, it would be best to restrain yourself, lest you embarrass yourself and our House. We are not like the _noble_ House of Godric, where the brave must lay in wait for someone to pounce upon like the proud felines that they are. Now then," he directed his gaze towards the still laid-out form of the would-be attackers, the wand now gone from his hand, "Is there something lacking in your diet, Gryffindors? Are you perhaps lacking in food that might stimulate that atrophied grey mass in your swollen heads and push it into a semblance of activity? What could possibly have been your reason for attacking in plain view of others?"

No reply was forthcoming, but if looks could kill...

"Eat slugs!" someone shouted from behind them and a yellow-streaked spell flew right in the direction of Hadrian Potter, hitting its target true.

The crowd that had gathered around the hallway now made way to show who the sender of the spell was. More than just raised eyebrows appeared on the faces of both Gryffindors and Slytherins, when it was revealed that none other than Ronald Weasley had sent the spell, while his target had their back turned against him. And speaking of the target...

Hadrian Potter looked very green in the face and only managed to voice one word, _'Snape...',_ before he fell down to the ground and started vomiting. Not the contents of today's breakfast, but slugs as the shout from moments ago indicated. Someone from the sides quickly conjured up a bucket and Daphne made her way to Potter's side, holding his head over it, while he managed to keep some semblance of control over himself, hands and knees on the cold floor while the purging continued.

It took some small amount of time, which no doubt seemed a lot longer to Hadrian, before the familiar shape of Professor Snape appeared before them. Most of the students were still there, wanting to see how this would end, but a scowl and a threat from the Potions Master quickly cleared the hallway of all those who were not involved. In the end, it left Daphne, Potter, Zabini, Davis and the three Gryffindors responsible for the whole thing.

"What happened here? The truth," Severus snapped at the children in front of him, his lightless eyes wandering from one student to the next. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to hear out all the students, barring Potter, about the event that happened. The Weasley brat claimed that Potter attacked Longbottom and Finnigan first, but a surface glance at the boy's mind proved how false it was, and under threat of detentions until the end of the year, the truth was coaxed from the redheaded menace. Apparently, the trio, for Weasley was planning to participate in it too, had decided to repay Potter for attacking their Housemates, for which Severus expressed his explicit disbelief. The brat might be a Potter, but has shown himself to be anything but the instigator in all the confrontations that Snape knew about. Greengrass had then explained why Potter attacked Gryffindors before; and when she was done with her explanation, Gryffindor was docked twenty-five points per the participant, for today's dueling in the hallways.

"I will speak about further appropriate punishments with your Head of House, Mr. Weasley. Now get out of my sight!"

"But look at them," Weasley pointed at his friends, now standing up right with him, but the welts still visible on their faces, "they need to see Madam Pomfrey!"

"That's another 15 points you lost your House today for not following directions. Do you wish to go for more, Mr. Weasley? Take them, if you wish, to Madam Pomfrey on your own, they are no concern of mine," he waved the brat away and turned his attention towards his snake, who was still vomiting slugs into the bucket beneath him, "Mr. Potter, I cannot end the spell on you, you will have to endure through it, but it should not last more than another twenty to thirty minutes. Ms. Greengrass, accompany him to the Hospital wing, and here," he whipped out his wand, flicked it and a parchment of paper appearing out of nowhere appeared in his other hand, "Should anyone inquire about your purpose, merely show them this and they will let you be on your way. Ms. Davis and Mr. Zabini, away with you."

* * *

The trip to the hospital wing took longer than expected due to the continuous purging which showed no signs of stopping, despite what Professor Snape had said. While Daphne had planned on getting closer to Potter, this was not the way she envisioned it. Fortunately, once they reached the entrance of the infirmary, the Medi-Witch had appeared right out of her office and helped Daphne lead Potter to one of the beds where he would sit until the spell had ran its course. One blissful fact about being here was the lack of Gryffindors, who must have come and gone in the time it took Daphne to lead Potter up here.

When Daphne turned away, intent on leaving Potter, for now, she was stopped by a grip on her arm.

"Potter?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Ea..," Hadrian tried to speak, but the words were swallowed up by him heaving out yet another slug, ".. gala. Robes. Please."

It took her a few moments for understanding to dawn on her face, and with it his grip on her relented. Not seeing a way on how to take off his robes without getting messed up, she took out her wand from her robe, vanished his robes, though his pants and shoes remained, and a wand holster, of all things, on his right forearm, which certainly explained how his wand appeared so swiftly in his hand. And right there, still coiled in tight around him, perhaps by some unconscious reflex, was his serpent familiar, seemingly knocked out. When she seemed uncertain on how to proceed, Hadrian gave her a look, _a plea, _that conveyed what he asked of her.

There was quite a bit of an effort involved for her to carefully disentangle the serpent, while worrying at the same time what her reaction might be if she was crudely awoken by it. In the end, she managed it, albeit it took extensive time, and the Medi-Witch apparently didn't concern herself with them once she placed him on the bed. And now the serpent laid next to him on the bed, while the heaving slowly lessened, but had not yet completely dissipated.

Daphne had chosen to wait in the infirmary, despite no need for her further presence or assistance. Her curiosity is what kept her by his side now, though she tried to keep it subdued her wandering eyes betrayed her. Scar upon scar upon scar. She tried counting them, but many of them were crisscrossed with each other and others were hidden by the angle he positioned himself in for the purging. When she moved to the infirmary's bathroom to wash off her wands, just in case, and came back, she saw that his back was equally scarred, if not even more than his front. There was an urge within her, to trace each of the scar, to ask for each of its tale, though she knew it would be a futile endeavor and that she would receive no real reply. It was fortunate he had his back turned to her, for the hunger in her eyes grew steadily and gazed longingly on the wiry-thin frame of his body and the markings of whatever trials he had survived. Her observation was broken by his, now more coherent, request to find and give him one of the patient gowns to cover up.

Before the hour was out, their Head of House had appeared in the infirmary, giving a few potions to stabilize Hadrian's now upset stomach and a nutrient potion of his own private mixture, to replace the food he had missed out so far and that he would miss out further in the day. Due to the spells effects on his body, Snape had told him, he would need to avoid eating anything solid today and could only ingest some soup or perhaps milk, if need be. Pumpkin juice or sweetened tea was off-limits, as was anything else that might contain sugar in it. He had instructed Daphne to keep an eye out on what he ate for the rest of the day, and just before leaving the infirmary, back to wherever he came from, he spoke.

"15 points per dunderhead, that you subdued today, Mr. Potter," and left the two of his snakes with involuntary grins gracing their faces.

* * *

The story about the confrontation spread like wildfire, perhaps due to the involvement of the Boy-Who-Lived, and before the day was out, Hadrian was accosted by the Headmaster and McGonagall, Greengrass by his side. She had not left him alone since the infirmary, having apparently taken their Head of House's words perhaps a bit too strongly, though if he was forced to admit it, her presence was not an annoyance he initially thought it would be. When he had told her to remove his robes back in the hospital wing, he had some small fear that she would assault him with a barrage of questions about the scars, but the questions never came, and he found serenity in the silence that followed her gazes instead.

His worry was not centered on himself, but more on the health of his familiar. Silently, he cursed the Medi-Witch for not checking up on Eagala, despite clearly seeing the serpent laying unconscious on the bed by his side. Fortunately, Greengrass seemed to have noticed his worry, perhaps it was shown in his eyes, and several times she had readjusted the cold reptile body, making sure she would not be squished or sat upon, should he need to lay back down on the bed once the spell was done for. And when she awoke, her own worry and fears flowed through the connection they shared, the serpent wasted not a moment and quickly coiled herself, possessively so, around her bonded, her scales trembling and brushing against his warm flesh. Eagala had noticed the female human sitting near them, but when her bonded told her of what the girl had done for the both of them, she slithered her way towards her and nuzzled against the palm of her hand, eliciting a smile from Greengrass.

Then the accusers had arrived. Though the nausea had persisted, Hadrian still had enough semblance of a mind to wear one of the hospital patient gowns, to cover his back and front, before they had even arrived. Once they had listened to his side of the story, from which he left his actions done against the other Gryffindors who had tried cornering the few Slytherins that he had happened across himself, they laid out their judgement.

He was at fault, they said. He should have disarmed them, not harmed them the way he did. When he pointed out his familiar took the brunt of the spell they intended for him, a _Stupefy_ no doubt, they waved it off, saying he should have put an end to it and not retaliated. They were very disappointed with him when he told them what spell he used on them, and had they bothered to observe the other Slytherin present in the room they would have seen the satisfaction in her eyes. _Morsus_. An amplified version of the stinging hex, whose physical effects could be only removed by a medical salve and not just the simple counter-spells they were all taught.

They took points from his House, and some from the Gryffindors, though miniscule in comparison. It didn't matter that he was in the right here, all that they saw was a conflict between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and who else could be at fault but a Slytherin?

"Harry, my boy—"

"Mr. Potter, Headmaster," Hadrian said with a hoarse voice that he wished was filled with as much detest and disgust he felt for the old man in front of him, playing the role of a concerned grandfather figure all too well, while the Transfiguration Professor tried boring into him with one of her reprimanding gazes, "Time and time again, I tell you it's 'Mr. Potter'. If anyone were to use my first name, it would be a friend or a family member, and they would still use 'Hadrian', not 'Harry', not 'my boy'. I am uncomfortable with my name being diminished like that by a Headmaster, of a school where safety is often promised, but rarely delivered, with whom I have no familial ties let alone anything else."

Albus was truly saddened by the events that had transpired today. The instruments in his office had told him when Neville had been harmed by the spells Harry had flung his way without any remorse, knowing full well what kind of pain they induced in a person should they be struck with it, but he could not very well rush through the hallways of Hogwarts, and thus potentially alert anyone that he had placed, since the boy was but a babe, several monitoring spells upon his person, which though not illegal would certainly be looked upon as intrusive by some. Often he had to bypass the morality of others, to do what was right, to put his and their own qualms second to the greater good that guided his rather unique moral compass. And when he had learned that it was Harry who had done injury upon Neville, he was deeply troubled by it. Their parents, when they were alive, were friends, perhaps not as close as they could have been, but still friends that fought the same fight against the madness that was Lord Voldemort and his followers more than a decade ago. He wondered what they might have said to the boys to make them reconcile their differences.

Minerva was distressed. Here was the offspring of her, once, two brightest and best examples of what a Gryffindor should be, dressed in a hospital gown, brought here by the wand of Ronald Weasley. The Weasley boy was at fault here, no doubt, but would have James or Lily reacted like Harry did today? No, James might have pranked them in return, and Lily would easily defend herself, but not attack, not retaliate as ruthlessly as the child before her did. Leaving the boy with the Dursleys had changed the boy, who might have once been one of her cubs, but as Albus so delicately put it back then, he had no other family to take him in, and all of them were busy in those days after the demise of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Perhaps if they had at least taken a day or two to visit the child, to make sure his childhood was a proper one, he might not have ended up in the snake pit that he was in now. It pained her to see that a child of James and Lily Potter had no friends to call his own. Severus and Albus both had told her, though Severus seemed less inclined to share about the activities of any of his snakes, let alone a Potter, that the only company the child had been constantly seen in was the ghost of the Slytherin House, the Bloody Baron. It was unhealthy for a child to be like this in a school full of other children, but she could not interfere. He was not in her House and there was only so much she could do in between her duties.

Daphne was intrigued. The confrontations between the Headmaster and Potter, and other members of the staff that weren't Professor Snape, seemed to be escalating. For some reason she could not perceive, the Headmaster insisted on trying to be a grandfather figure to Potter, who was having none of it. It stood to reason that this had started before Hogwarts, but then why would the Headmaster be involved in the life of one particular student? Especially since he already had the Boy-Who-Lived to groom properly in the coming years, so that he could replace him as the figurehead or leader for the magical community of Britain. Inwardly, Daphne scoffed at the notion of Longbottom being a leader of anything beyond the dorms of Gryffindor. Yes, there had been slight improvements in the boy's self-confidence and judging from the sneaky attack on Potter he had a side to him that was not subdued like most of him was whenever he was in Potions. Then again, Professor Snape does tend to have that sort of effect on most people, adults and children, barring a respectable few. She wondered whether the Headmaster was purposely ignoring the refutations from Potter or was just blissfully ignorant in his senility. His face was an expressionless mask, hiding everything away from the world, only his eyes, even when hidden behind glasses, betrayed the emotions that swirled on the inside. Daphne felt elation and satisfaction at seeing it, here was the sight which drew her to him, here was the means, the ends, the cause for it all. With his familiar out in the open, preventing any of the two adults coming too near him, he looked ready to spring an attack and if she judged the finger twitching accordingly, Potter very much felt in the mood to either curse the man before him or simply did not wish to feel vulnerable whenever he faced him. Observing the way his fingers twitched, wishing for a wand between them, reminded her of when they had first arrived at Hogsmeade station, before they traveled down to the docks and then boarded the boats that carried them to Hogwarts. If her assessment of the situation was correct, Potter also had animosity for the half-breed gameskeeper. Another piece of the Potter puzzle and she did want to ever so piece it together. Perhaps even tear it apart and reassemble it to suit her purposes, but that was an idle thought that had only crossed her mind once or twice, as Potter proved to be a forever self-readjusting puzzle, an ever-evolving riddle, whose solution would be only provided by himself and could be seen by no other.

* * *

Spending the rest of the day with Potter had not been too dreadfully boring, as it turned out. He was excused, and she as his temporary custodian, of today's classes and on their way around the castle, through hallways she had never ventured forth, they had been joined by the presence of the Bloody Baron, who only allowed an enigmatic smile to grace his face when he saw her by Potter's side. The two did not speak, as if they had moved past verbal communication, or perhaps they simply did not wish to speak in her presence, but there was an odd sense of... companionship. Potter relaxed, allowed his shoulders to drop down slightly and his fingers had stopped their twitching once the silvery shade almost-laid a hand across his shoulder. They were accompanied by the Baron throughout the school, until they reached their common room by a convoluted way that would most likely perplex a Ravenclaw with a penchant for labyrinths.

When they did reach the common room, the Baron had said his farewells and left their side, though his everwatchful gaze was now replaced by the looks the two were getting from the people who were in the common room. Of all the people to approach them, Marcus Flint was the last one Hadrian had expected. The tall and rather bulkish boy grumbled something about repaying the Gryffindors for what they did to him and the rest of the younger Slytherins. Then it clicked. Looking around the common room, he spotted those he had inadvertendly rescued when he subdued the few Gryffindor groups he had come across around the castle, ganging up on the fewer numbers of Slytherins. It never went physical, nothing like the 'game' his cousin played in Little Whinging with the rest of the neighborhood's children, but seeing someone being bullied like that made bile rise in Hadrian, and he wanted to use more than just the _Stupefy_ spells and the sticking charms.

Oh he was no fool about it, there was no crusade here to be led by him, to advocate fair treatment of all. It's been a long time since he was dissillusioned about life being fair or anything of the like, and he knew that his House had its fair share of flaws, bigots and idiots like Malfoy sadly weren't that rare, but they were subdued most of the time, yet the unfair treatment from the Gryffindors on those who had nothing to do with their ilk stoked something inside of Hadrian. Perhaps it was the pent up emotions from his own twisted and broken childhood. Perhaps it was a misguided hero complex. He didn't care. The loosing of spells was all that mattered in the moment, seeing them fall, seeing the rare few try and fight back, that was all that made sense.

A part of him wished for more.

* * *

_It started out the same, as it always had. Nothing changed since the first calling._

_A dark place, with no source of light, yet the shape of a person was evident, clearly shown against the blackness that would engulf everything. For reasons unfathomable, it provided comfort._

_A dripping of water. No. An echo of water falling, somewhere far, far away. _

_Something moving across the endless surface of water. An echo. A scent. A color. A hiss. A command. A word._

_**"None **_—_**"**_


	8. Chapter 8

The approaching Yuletide holidays were all that kept the ancient school's once famous unity from crumbling away into nothingness. It was always said that when an outside threat endangered Hogwarts, the Houses would unite, forget all their petty rivalries and childish animosities, unite to defend what they called their home.

The unity was long gone now, vanished in the pages of history. Still, the school had held its grounds, and both the students and staff alike would defend it as if it were holy ground. For what true home can be considered anything less by its occupants?

This time... the threat was not on the outside. Fear had spread amongst the Houses, permeating the air, distrust tainting the minds of the young, worry infecting the minds of the old.

The snow covering the grounds brought some comfort, as it brought out the children in all of them, making them unconsciously abandon the atmosphere of imminent calamity that was of their own brewing. Winter-time makes children of us all, watching the snowflakes fall gently down to the ground, enjoying the warmth that a hearth can provide to those in need. Tales told and the promise of family revisited.

Though the winter did not hold the same promises for all in equal measure.

* * *

Once more, the throng of students leaving Hogwarts for the holidays has been great, perhaps seeming even greater than the year before, as if they were chased by nightmares given flesh, their fears given form yapping at their heels. None spoke why they had rushed away, though they all knew that for once the castle that they left behind did not offer comfort and safety as it has the year before, despite whatever misfortune event might have occurred on All Hallow's Eve.

Hadrian was surprised that he was not the only Slytherin this year to stay in the castle. He had heard grumblings from Malfoy about some reason that forced her to stay here, instead of going home like last year, and when confronted by some of the older Slytherins she claimed her father had important business to conduct within the Ministry. None bought the tale and none asked anything further. Crabbe, Goyle and the Parkinson girl had also remained, and to Hadrian it seemed as if Greengrass had pondered whether to stay at the castle, though she never voiced any hesitance on her part. Whether it was because of the incident of that one particular day when Weasley had gotten the drop on him, _'...the first and last time if I have any say in it'_, or something else entirely, both Eagala and he had noticed the glances she stole his way, the odd looks with that impassive mask of hers firmly in place, never wavering.

When the morning of the 20th of December dawned, he found that Greengrass had left Hogwarts for the holidays, though he never expected anything else. They were not friends, no matter the close proximity of that one day they had spent together, she as his watcher and he as the patient, but like it or not, she was the first person in Slytherin to look upon him so naked, to see his scars so easily displayed. It didn't sit well with him that he had exposed that part of himself, and no matter what Yvanna said about them being proof of his continued survival, it was still a very private matter for him. True, others had seen his back in the boy's bathroom on that one particular opportunity when he had slept in later than usual, yet that didn't bother him as much. He wondered if his lack of discomfort had something to do with how much of his emotions he had poured on the previous night into the Brown Book. And just like that, his mind returned to the enigma of the Brown Book.

He was not a fool to believe the 'gift' had come without strings attached, nevermind how invisible they were to the eye. Someone wanted him to have this book, to enhance his education, to add to his knowledge. While it did coincide with his own goals, he was not willing to let go of his suspicions, as someone wanted him led down a certain road they had constructed specifically for him. The trouble was finding out who. While he had no doubt that the Headmaster had an unusual amount of interest in a war orphan, such as himself, he very much doubted it was in the nature of the man to give away gifts like that, out of the blue, without at least some previous cordial relationship established between the sender and the receiver. The Baron had already claimed his gift, the pendant he wore on the silver necklace, bound around his neck, always clinging to his flesh, though the shade did seem to know something about the Brown Book, if not the identity of the one who sent it.

Still, the book had proved more than useful. As he leafed more and more through it, absorbing knowledge at what he considered a steady pace, and what others would consider rather too quick for any lesson to be truly understood, he found a hunger within himself. He grimaced when he remembered the Hat's words in one particular moment, about how he sought to distance himself from everyone with books, but was that the case here? Did he seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge and pushing everything away? No. His aloofness from the rest of Hogwarts was voluntary, even before he had received the Brown Book. Occasionally, he had pondered whether to cultivate closer relationships with some of the Slytherins in his House, perhaps with Zabini, who after all was his roommate, or even Davis and Greengrass. His mind would always remind him that while such things were possible for him, and not completely out of his emotional grasp, he would lose the time that he needed to... to what? Learn more spells? Learn more magical theory? Brew potions? No. These were just a few self-deceits that he inflicted upon himself as the first line of defense. He wanted, _needed_, power.

The only reason why he had been safe from the Dursleys this past summer is because they had not expected him to come home with Eagala. She was one form of power that they had not counted on. The surprise of her presence would be gone for the next summer, and more likely than not, the Headmaster would once more send someone to check up on him, perhaps someone else than Professor Snape. Maybe if he had been more cordial with the old man, there would have been no check up on him, but it was far too late for such things. He had expressed his distaste for the man, and the familiarity he always tried to enforce between the two of them, and though the Headmaster might have appeared to be a benevolent grandfather figure in the lives of every student at Hogwarts, Hadrian recognized it, as one actor recognizes another, as a mask. A facade, if you will. Perhaps, the old man was indeed a benevolent grandfather, willing to sit down and listen to his student's aches and worries. But to Hadrian Potter he would always be the man that had sent him back to the Dursleys, and the one who had condemned him initially to the household, to play the role of a slave.

And Professor Snape. The man was puzzling, to say the least. At times, Hadrian swore the man wanted to snap at him for no reason, there was more than normal animosity brewing in those black eyes of his. And in the snap of a moment, the animosity would vanish, replaced by something Hadrian couldn't understand. It was as if his presence somehow pained the hook-nosed Professor, but the presence of such emotions would quickly vanish, their presence only kept in the scant few memories Hadrian had began accumulating about the man. Other than the few, enigmatic looks he had found himself the target from Professor Snape, their relationship had been one of the most amicable ones he had in Hogwarts. Whenever their talks concerned classwork, the Professor would act rather like the Bloody Baron, his guidance in potion brewing or ingredients gathering more vague than it had been in regular classes, yet Hadrian delighted in the challenges presented. It was one of the few things at Hogwarts that he was truly passionate about. Not for the first or last time, he considered asking, in the near future, about an apprenticeship with the Professor or at least the possibility of such. If for nothing else then the novelty of seeing how he would react.

* * *

"Albus, what in Merlin's name possessed you to visit Potter, with Minerva in tow, on that day in the hospital?" Snape spat out at the old man in front of him, earning him reproachful looks from Minerva and Flitwick, who sat with him in the staff room, while the rest of the teachers were out and enjoying the student-free holiday. He had been waiting for an appropriate moment to lash out at the old man for his actions from nearly a month ago, but managed to restrain himself until the students left for the holidays. And just until a few moments ago, he was even considering letting it stew in silence, when Minerva brought up the brat's stay at Hogwarts for the Yuletide.

Dumbledore frowned for a moment, before a confused look took the frown's place, "Severus? I'm not quite sure why you are bringing this up now, my boy. Has something happened?"

A sneer from Severus was his reply, before the berating continued, "Your bias for Gryffindors has happened."

"Now, now, Severus, I'm not quite sure you're the one to talk about bias," McGonagall quipped from her place at the table, looking rather intently at the Potions Master.

"My bias is required to keep some of them out of harm's reach, while your bias is pampering and coddling. Tell me something, Minerva, where is the nobility your House likes to claim as its own when they gang upon my students, always in greater numbers?"

For her part, McGonagall at least looked ashamed, color flushing her cheeks as the words struck true, "I've talked to them, numerous times, Severus. I cannot keep an eye on all of them at all times, some minor confrontations are bound to happen."

"But you apparently can spare the time to visit one of my snakes in the hospital. Have you talked to Longbottom and Finnigan? Have they been additionally reprimanded for their un-Gryffindor tactics of striking at someone who didn't even have his wand out? Or with the Weasley brat, who found it appropriate to strike someone in the back with a spell that would leave them debilitated for the rest of the day? Judging by the look on your face, I'd guess not. Blatant favoritism for the Boy-Who-Lived and his cohorts, how utterly predictable from the both of you," he snarled out and left the rather shocked occupants of the room behind, his robes billowing behind him.

A part of Severus Snape didn't very much endorse the idea of protecting the brat, especially a Potter brat, but everything else, from his mind to his heart, told him that this particular brat was a Potter in name only; perhaps in the first year he might have noted it was name and looks, but now, looking at the child, he knew that his face differentiated in subtle ways from that of how James Potter looked when he was but a child at Hogwarts. There was the subtle cheekbone structure more associated with Blacks, to whom the brat claimed a link through his paternal grandmother; there were the sometimes bright, sometimes subdued green eyes and their shape that he claimed from his mother, a woman that Severus would never forget. Though he would be loath to admit it, he was reminded of himself whenever he saw Potter in his classroom, brewing potions, diligently preparing the ingredients and even going so far as to alter certain potions, testing out his theories. Whether it was the boy's first time experimenting or not, Snape wasn't sure. And though not all of the experimentation with differentiating ingredients, stirring and heating had been a success, it did not deter Potter from trying again. His introspection about the brat didn't reach his socialization, or lack of, as Potter never exhibited problems with it, and from what Snape had seen so far it was all by his design, rather than some kind of outcast status in his House, as Dumbledore always tried to pin the issue. James Potter must be rolling in his grave at the thought of Severus Snape worrying about his son.

Yet he was Lily's son too, and that carried far more weight than anything else in his mind.

* * *

Hadrian took to roaming the castle again, once more in the comfort of the Bloody Baron and Eagala. The serpent had become more protective of him since the incident a month ago, and had taken to always making sure she was seen, even if just by the tip of her head peering out from beneath his collar. Now that the majority of students had left for the holidays, Hadrian didn't bother with forcing her underneath his robes as much, though a large part of her reptilian body was still beneath them, with several warming charms added to both his robes and to herself.

It had been a strange sensation when she first clung to his flesh tightly, back when Yvanna and Vladimir had gifted her to him. No. Not gifted. That sounded far too wrong and would demean the serpent, to whom he had grown close to over the summer and the school months so far. Aside from the Slytherin House's ghost and her, he trusted no other. And her open presence served as a wonderful deterent for some of the Gryffindors that had remained at Hogwarts during the holidays. If he was honest, it was a surprise to see the Dunderhead Quintet, as they had become known in Slytherin's common room, had chosen to stay, but as long as they avoided confrontations with him, he would have no issue with them.

One of the staff members had brought up the Dueling Club in the Great Hall, during one of the meals, which had been previously only available to those in their NEWT year at Hogwarts. The Headmaster with a few other teachers had deemed it a good time to allow the lower years' participation in it. Unfortunately, the Professor that was to be in charge of it soured the news. Lockhart. Hadrian had voiced his thoughts aloud if the Headmaster was completely senile now if he left such a potentially volatile situation in the hands of such a fumes-for-brains, while he was walking the now-empty corridors of Hogwarts with the Bloody Baron by his side and Eagala coiled upon his chest. Unknown to him, the hallway wasn't as nearly as empty as it seemed, as from one of many hidden passageways an amused Potions Master emerged, his eyes shining with mirth and his lips curling upwards. Truly, what a horrifying visage it might have been for any passing student.

* * *

One of the disadvantages of the student-free Hogwarts was that the library wasn't always open as often as Hadrian would have wanted it. Many a time in the day he would venture towards the knowledge trove and find the doors closed and its locks spelled impregnable. The few times that he did manage to gain access to the books inside, the matriarch of the library would always find an excuse to swoop down somewhere near him and try to either make him leave the library with her constant presence in the background or, if Hadrian guessed her intentions correctly, to see what books he was reading. Thankfully, the Baron's presence from then on had prevented her from repeating it in the future, for which Hadrian was most grateful.

Though now deprived of Madam Pince's vulture-like buzzing in the background, Hadrian still felt as if he was watched. Perhaps it was paranoia, perhaps it had been his hard earned caution. The library would, at times, seem far more vulnerable to him, and the shelves would look fit to topple down upon him, to trap him beneath the books and their pages full of knowledge.

On one such occasion, he was indeed watched. The Bloody Baron floated in the air by his side, watching the approaching figure, evaluating whether it would be a threat or a simply passerby. It was neither. Hadrian felt the urge to raise his head up from the book, and was greeted with a most odd sight.

There before him stood a girl, petite in stature, with a rather unusual appearance; she had long, straggly hair, of a true-silver coloration, true unlike the imitation that Delinda Malfoy claimed, and very faint eyebrows which were nearly invisible on her alabaster complexion, while her eyes seemed to be of the blue-gray variety, with the occasional fleck of pale green in them. The term 'albino' might spring to one's mind upon seeing her, yet she held no air of sickness about her, no physical vulnerability. That however was not the unusual about her.

If one were to disregard the cork-on-a-string-of-rope necklace that hanged around her neck, and the... were those radishes?... earrings which hung from her earlobes, there was still the otherworld impression one would receive. Even the way she moved seemed somewhat inhuman, or perhaps merely incomprehensible to the normal eye, but it was her face which marked her as the oddity. It was a face one might have upon waking from a dream, still unsure whether the dream was ongoing or if the waking world had come to collect its due.

"Hello," a voice with a sing-song, dreamy quality passed the rather thin and pink lips.

Hadrian was perplexed by this behavior. Being sorted in Slytherin has had its perks, as far as he was concerned, chief among them that not many students, or any at all if they were from other Houses, bothered you. Yet this girl had chosen for some reason to approach him, especially in these rather turmoil-filled times. The colors on her tie and the badge on her black robes identified her as a Ravenclaw, but from what little classes Slytherin had shared with them, he could not recall ever seeing her before; most likely a first year student.

"Hello," he repeated the greeting, and waited for a reason to present itself.

"It's quite alright, you know," she continued as if he had not spoken at all, "There's nothing wrong with snakes, despite some people's prejudices," the girl then cocked her head to the sides and looked at Eagala, who had been laying in Hadrian's lap so far, but now had her gaze focused on the girl in front of them, "You have such wonderful scales."

Just like that the girl turned around and was gone.

* * *

It was not the last time the strange first-year had come upon Hadrian. Once he met her on one of his many treks around the castle, and another time he didn't even notice the girl walking right besides him, so engrossed he was into his thoughts. The Baron apparently thought it amusing and kept his silence, while observing the girl that was the first, outside of their House, to approach his little snake.

Soon enough, Hadrian became accustomed to her presence and had even engaged the younger Ravenclaw in some talks about schoolwork. She had a few odd ideas about magical creatures, but nothing too fantastical, and to her delight, Hadrian Potter proved a willing recipient for her theories.

Without even noticing, the gloomy mood that had plagued the school, and him as well, was dispersed with the help of Nargles.

* * *

"I've noticed that the Headmaster keeps attracting the Wrackspurts. Especially whenever he looks in your direction. I wonder if it's those robes of his, a man his age should never dress so silly," the familiar voice of his dreamy-faced companion spoke, as if picking up the conversation and not starting one anew from out of nowhere.

"Hello Luna," he greeted her, her presence popping out of nowhere being something he had become accustomed to over the previous week, "How have you been doing?"

"Oh perfectly fine, Hadrian, the Nargles seem to be staying clear of me so far. I wonder if it's due to all the mistletoe I've been avoiding in the Great Hall. Either way, I'm glad they decided to leave my trunk alone, it was tiresome trying to find its contents all over the school."

She received only a grunt in reply, as Hadrian didn't want to upset the girl. He had become acquainted enough with Luna that he knew Nargles weren't the ones stealing her possessions, that her own Housemates were the ones responsible for that. Though he would not admit it, it bothered him on some level that one's own House could be so malicious to one of its first-years; embers of a particular emotion, that he fervently tried to suppress, were stoked within him when he had first learned of this. Child's cruelty; once more he was shown that the worst of crimes could come from their own age-peers, and the crime of omission could be laid at the feet of the, so called, adults.

Granted, Slytherin wasn't the friendliest of Houses, but other than Malfoy and her clique, he could not say that he was in a worse position than her. It was an odd relationship he had established with one Luna Lovegood. From the very start, she had called him by his first name, and he hadn't known whether to be upset by someone using his first name or just pleasantly surprised that someone actually called him 'Hadrian'. Apart from Yvanna, who still preferred to call him 'little one', and Vlad, there were no others who had used his first name.

And this girl, this very strange girl, seemed oblivious to certain manners of behavior. Such behavior was not limited to her interactions with him, for he was treated to a most wondrous sight of Lockhart being even more befuddled than his usual self was when she started questioning, more like interrogating, him about his teaching credentials right in the Great Hall, while they, few students that remained and staff alike, ate some breakfast. Hadrian could have sworn that Professor Snape seemed highly amused and that a smile threatened to break out on the pale Potions Master's face, but before it could happen McGonagall had effectively shooed away Luna from Lockhart's side and she wandered off somewhere afterwards.

It was a novel experience for Hadrian to be shown parts of the castle he had never seen before. Without Luna's, rather erratic, guidance he would have never discovered the Hogwarts kitchen and its very peculiar staff. Aside from the fact that the entrance to it was concealed behind a painting, and that you needed to tickle the pear on it to get it to move aside, there was also the matter of House Elves. He had read something briefly about them in his first year at Hogwarts, having been intrigued by who could have kept making all that food for the students, all day long, but he didn't seek them out.

Now, he was treated to their hyperactive and quite enthusiastic presence, for the little greyish creatures, with their floppy ears and pointy noses, delighted in having students around in the kitchen. Since the rest of the school was mostly empty, their workload had decreased, and they had moped about it shortly to Hadrian, while Luna was becoming acquainted with some of the new House Elves that have recently arrived at Hogwarts.

They were an unusual lot, apparently unused to simple politness and kindness from those whom they served, which they treated like Hadrian treated knowledge of magic or Luna treated her many odd charms, and always happy to help in any way they could. After Luna had introduced him to a significant portion of the kitchen staff, he barely remembered a few names in all the commotion, they had started to spend their breakfasts and lunches in here, rather than in the Great Hall, at Hadrian's suggestion. He truly did not wish to spend any time near the Dunderheads or to be under the everwatchful eye of the Headmaster, who still seemed intent on establishing some kind of relationship with him. To Luna, it was all the same, as long as he was with her.

It had taken him some time, mostly due to the quirky way that Luna's mind worked, to find out more about this girl who had sought him out to befriend him. She never said that was what she intended, but he saw that's what it was all the same, disguised under her odd behavior. Perhaps even disguised to herself. What in Merlin's name possessed the girl to try and befriend him, he could not even begin to guess. Yet... if he were honest about the whole thing, it was not unpleasant. Just unfamiliar. He had thought first that maybe she was so willing to try and befriend him was due to her own and his House being on somewhat polite terms, more so than the rest of them. However, in his talks with her, he had found out that the majority of Ravenclaws preferred to shy away from Slytherins for the time being, until the issue of petrifications was resolved and a culprit was found.

So why then did the girl seek him out as a potential friend? To put it simply, she had no one else. Hadrian had rather decent observation skills, honed and refined after many years spent in the Dursley household, observing the wretched family for any sign of threat to him, and what he saw in the Great Hall, the few times they had been there at the same time, was rather unpleasant, but not unexpected. The Dunderheads apparently knew the girl, calling her Loony rather than Luna, as if it was a friendly jest and not an outright insult, through the youngest Weasley, who was currently away from Hogwarts. It was a subtle thing, the loss of her dream-face, as he had started to call it in his mind, for the briefest of moments, but it was there for those who looked for it. To them, it may have been not intended as an insult, but to Luna it was more than that. Oh how they must have been surprised when Hadrian Potter, a Slytherin who barely spoke to people in his own House, came to her rescue, so to speak, took her away from their loathsome presence by the hand and wandered off into the abandoned hallways.

* * *

Only a scant few days remained before Hogwarts became infested with students once more, as Hadrian saw it, so he was making the most of his free time by spending it in the library and trying to irritate the ever-lurking presence of Madam Pince. Luna's behavior seemed to tick off the librarian, so having her along for his reading sessions there had proven an adequate replacement for the Bloody Baron, who preferred to roam rather than stay put in one place.

Hadrian was, at the moment, leafing through the potions book that Yvanna had sent him back in September, one he'd barely looked at before. It was heartfelt gratitude that he felt for the older witch, for being supportive of him, for being the first adult in his life to do so. He still hadn't sent her a letter, mainly because he didn't know what to write about to her. Luna, as ever, was quick to provide him with a unique perspective on the issue.

"Just write to her. I don't think she would mind even if you didn't say much, it's not the contents that matter, but the act itself. Of course, I may be slightly infested with Wrackspurts myself and just saying nonsense. But you'll never know until you do it," she hummed the words, never moving her face away from the book she was reading herself. Yet another magical creatures book. The girl loved to indulge herself in reading about those, studying about their habits, their diets... Eagala had been quite surprised when one day Luna came with a stunned mouse, dangling from her hand by its tail, and offered it up to her. She was proving to be good companion, and perhaps even... a good friend. He was confused. Hadrian had no problem with the girl considering him a friend, but was she as much to him? How was he supposed to judge it? He'd never had any before.

Any further musings on the topic were broken away by the unexpected new arrivals to their desk in the library.

"Potter," a familiar voice called out to him, and when Hadrian raised up his face from the book, he was confused.

"Malfoy?" he inquired. Why would she seek him out? She was accompanied by the rather familiar shapes of Dumb and Dumber, "Is something the matter?"

The girl and her escorts approached his table, pulling out chairs, only barely looking at the Ravenclaw girl that was present, though she didn't bother noticing them or greeting them.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," she started off, looking rather nervous and biting her lower lip.

Without being too obvious about it, Hadrian slipped one of his hands into the pocket where his wand was currently in, placing a firm grip on it. Since the talking-down she had received from their Head of House the girl kept giving him hateful looks, more than the usual amount, presumably for bearing witness to her shaming. A well deserved shaming, in Hadrian's opinion, but Malfoy most likely saw it as a weakness that was exposed.

"Go on," he said in his neutral voice, shifting himself in the chair so he could pull out his wand at a moment's notice. Crabbe and Goyle looked tense, for some reason, and very focused on the conversation that was about to happen.

"It's about this whole Heir business," she waved her hand, as if to encompass all that has happened in the past two months, "I just thought we should pool our resources together, you know?"

Luna was entertained by the event that was unfolding right in front of her. It seemed that Hadrian had quickly caught on that not everything about this scene was quite right, and had relaxed in body posture, though his wand, undoubtedly, remained firmly in his hand. The pools of light that she normally called Wrackspurts were very erratic in their pattern today, yet familiar to her. None would mistake the glimmer in her eyes for anything but the regular oddity that was Luna Lovegood's dreamy stare. The time she spent with Hadrian Potter, short while it may have been, had changed her somewhat. He was a very cautious boy, who, despite his outward polite nature to most people, didn't ease up around anyone, whether they were known to him or not. Though he was never one to instigate confrontations, he was all too glad to finish them; she had seen as much for herself during the few brief times she had seen him in the hallways.

He was a lonely individual, one who had chosen his isolation, while she was alone because she was the outcast. Her mind on some level had understood the reasons why her Housemates might have not liked her, why they might not have wanted her friendship. They were cruel, as only children can be, and unwittingly she'd started believing her father's fanciful tales more than ever before, not for the purpose of indulging him, as it was at home, but for the purpose of keeping the world at bay. It was a cruel world she entered, bereft of even her very first friend, as both of them had been sorted into different Houses. Yes, they saw each other in the hallways, occasionally even shared classes, so the friendship hadn't completely dissipated.

It was crumbling away, and Luna Lovegood in her sudden solitude broke down the barries in her mind, unwillingly and unknowingly, allowing the delusions of her father to settle in, to find fertile soil, to spring up, and to further move her away from a world that did not accept her. Then she saw the boy. A year older than her, a most peculiar boy whose head lacked the pools of light that many of the students were infested with. It was as if seeing crystal clear water, being able to peer all the way to whatever deeps it hid. To her, the lack of lights was brighter than any other luminescence possible. Like a moth to flame, she was drawn to him. It kept the Nargles away, her mind justified it to her with its own twisted reasons. It would hurt less, her heart had said in its ache for companionship.

The first few days might as well have been years for her. Each day was an uncertainty, filled with anxiety, and hidden fears of rejection. It never came, the hurtful words she had heard from others never sprang from his mouth, the scornful look never marred his face. They had been companions, and he was surprisingly undisturbed by her continuous presence through the first few days when she would appear by his side. It reassured her, gave her courage that she had never known before to possess, to strive and to try to build a new friendship with the unknown as the only certainty.

On that day, on that morning, in the Great Hall, when her friend's brother and his friends said that name to her, _'Hey Loony..'_, and then proceeded to ask her about the mythical creatures that she so fiercly sought to bring into existence by sheer willpower, their voices carried the stinging tones of mockery, much like those of her own Housemates. And then... a hand in her hand, the feeling of being pulled away from harm's reach and the blossoming smile when she realized who had done this courtesy to her. The boy who never reached out to others reached out to her and with this gesture offered a friendship that would soothe the delirium of one Luna Lovegood.

"Pool our resources together?" Hadrian's voice broke Luna from her reminiscence, and her dream-face was etched with a vague smile for things that would surely come.

"Yes, Potter. That's what I said. We should," the girl threw a glance at Luna for a moment before moving her focus back on Hadrian, "Go back to our common room and talk more about this."

A face which almost never let anything slip by now hosted a thoughtful look. Luna felt like giggling, suspecting, and rightly so, that this was a performance.

"All right," Hadrian said, "Wait for me outside the library, I just need to return these books back to their shelves," all three of the uninvited guests nodded and left the library desk behind them, and soon the library itself. Hadrian made no move to return the books to the shelves, turning to Luna instead, "Luna, please find Professor Snape, he's most likely at lunch now, and tell him to meet us at the bottom of the stairwell that leads to the dungeons. If he won't listen, tell him that this concerns something from Chapter VII, section XVI of _"Moste Potente Potions"_. And hurry please, I'll explain everything later."

Nothing changed on Luna's face visibly, but she glowed on the inside. Her friend entrusted her with something and she would not fail him. He had not yet said the words that would confirm the friendship, but for now his gestures would more than suffice.

She made her way out of the library and used the shortcuts that Hadrian had shown to her, over the past few days, to reach the Great Hall as quickly as he asked of her. When she had reached the place, the dressed-in-black, pale-in-complexion Potions Master was easy to find, the usual of scowls adorning his face. It changed from the scowl to a perplexed expression, one of his eyebrows raised when she came near his seat and addressed him.

"Ms. Lovegood?" he spoke, unsure of what the first-year Ravenclaw could have possibly wanted from him.

"Hello, Professor Snape. Hadrian Potter told me to ask if you would meet him at the bottom of the dungeon stairwell," Luna said, and waited for the inevitable twitch of mouth signifying his less than willing feeling about obliging brats at lunch-time before she continued, "He said it has something to do with a book called _"Moste Potente Potions"_ and Chapter VII, section XVI of it."

That was all that she needed to say for the other eyebrow to shoot up high as well, before he swooped from his seat and quickly moved, glided would be a more appropriate observation, across the stone floor and vanished behind one of the doors.

* * *

"Finally! Did we have to go all this way around, Potter?"

"Trust me, Malfoy, this is the shortest way to our common room."

"But we're at the regular dungeon stairwell, we could have gotten here quicker by the normal route," she whined.

"Yes, but then I would have missed out on this," Hadrian said and allowed a genuine smile to creep up on his face, while the three looked at him, panic in their eyes.

"Mr. Potter," a voice drawled behind them as it descended from the stairwell, "I trust you have not made Ms. Lovegood send me here for a foolish joke, because if that is the case, I can guarantee you that your detention will be far more unpleasant than what I gave out to Longbottom the last time."

Severus observed the four before him, a most unusual sight, as he was well aware of the animosity between Potter and Malfoy. Yet the Malfoy girl and her training wheels almost seemed uncomfortable in his presence, which not all that unsurprising was still somewhat unexpected, "Well, Mr. Potter, I'm waiting."

"Professor, these aren't Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. I believe these are Polyjuiced students."

The rather blunt and direct statement from one his snakes was a rare thing to behold, but what he just implied... Severus was indeed missing some ingredients from his supplies, though initially he had believed the Weasley twins responsible for this. As usual he had lacked any proof, so he was forced to restrain himself, to act subdued while he tried to gather some evidence on who the perpetrator might be.

"Are you sure of that, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, quite needlessly as the other three 'snakes' started sweating profusely, the sheen of sweat glistening on their foreheads, "What evidence do you have to offer?"

"Other than the suggestion of waiting out an hour, none. However, if I am wrong...," he left it unfinished and Severus allowed his lips to curl upwards, already pondering who the imposters might be. He did not truly doubt the brat's words, his apparently intimate knowledge about the Polyjuice potion so early into his education at Hogwarts quashed whatever doubts there might be.

The pretenders looked as if they were having thoughts about trying to make a run for it. Snape seemed as if to sense their thoughts and informed them that he would not hesitate to stun them and then levitate their bodies to the Great Hall for all to watch them transform back into their original bodies. Sans clothing.

They were all led to the Professor's office and he ordered them all down to sit, where they would now wait out whatever remaining time there was left for the potion to wear off. In the end, it barely took half an hour before the first obvious twitching started from whoever was impersonating Delinda Malfoy. A moment or two afterwards the fake Crabbe and Goyle started twitching too, and before another minute was out, in Professor Snape's office now sat Longbottom, Patil and Weasley.

There, they were treated to a sight not many experience and live to tell the tale. Severus Tobias Snape was laughing, outright laughter, at the foolishnes of Gryffindors. Not only have they stolen ingredients from him, but they have actually brewed Polyjuice Potion, a controlled substance, which carries a substantial fine and imprisonment depending on the circumstances of its use. And to brew the potion itself, they needed _"Moste Potente Potions",_ a book which was in the Restricted Section, and no matter how much favoritism the Boy-Who-Lived may have received so far, a permission slip for that part of the library was not among it.

* * *

The Yuletide and New Year's Eve had passed and Hogwarts welcomed its students back, though some of them may have felt reluctant about returning. For the most part, the anxiety that had accumulated in the castle and in their minds was vanished, as if by magic. And the most amusing part of it all was seeing the faces of numerous students when they trailed into the Great Hall, seeing the Gryffindor hour-glass filled with black gems, indicating points in the negative.

When word had spread that the Gryffindors that stayed behind during the holidays did something to cause this, their whole House turned on them and the rest of the Houses mocked them, Slytherins being the first and foremost. They were not told anything and those who knew about it were sworn to secrecy by the Headmaster, for which he had garnered scowls from Severus Snape and Hadrian Potter in equal measure.

Yes, there had been a major deduction in points and detentions issued until the end of the school year. And no one was to know the cause of it. When Hadrian was invited into the office, his Head of House by his side, of the Headmaster, the last thing he expected was for the old man to try and appeal to some nonexistent spirit of inter-House friendship. What an utterly foolish notion; where was this inter-House friendship when every other House had shunned Slytherin aside? When their own had been jinxed and hexed by other students? Dumbledore looked saddened by the harsh bite in Hadrian's words, as if he expected something completely different to come out of his mouth.

Point blank, Hadrian refused to keep silent on the matter, that if anyone asked him what had happened, he would tell the truth. And truth be told, he felt glee at that, Longbottom needed to be knocked down a peg. Though he harbored no true malicious intent for the other boy, he would not deny that there was intense dislike for the round-faced blonde. Then the elderly Headmaster showed a completely different side of him; he had asked Hadrian how he knew about the Polyjuice potion, his blue eyes, for the briefest moment, no longer twinkling, a calculating gaze had taken its place. When he told the old man that he read it in a book, Dumbledore asked, _demanded_, to know what book he read it from. Without thinking, and later he would curse himself for doing so, he had pulled out the book from his robe's pocket and shown it to the man. Only the sharp intake of breath of the Potions Master behind him told him something was wrong.

Unwittingly, he had given the means to the Headmaster to silence him. The book that he carried so carelessly everywhere with him, the book that Yvanna had gifted to him, was now taken from him. Dangerous knowledge, Dubmledore claimed, was contained within the book, knowledge that a twelve year old child should not have in his possession. No matter that Hadrian pointed out it was just theory, no matter that he didn't have access to a place where he could brew anything from it, let alone even having some of the ingredients.. it was taken from him.

The order for silence was not said outright, the meaning was hidden behind false words of concern for his future. In effect, he could not speak of it and the Headmaster's precious Boy-Who-Lived's breach of many rules would be overlooked. For the greater good.

As if that had not been enough to set Hadrian at odds with the old man, Dumbledore had done something to Luna, to ensure her silence as well. The embers of rage that he had only marginally felt being stoked into existence had now wakened completely, when the sight of the usually far-away look in her eyes was replaced with fear. And so she told him. Told him how she would understand if he would not be her friend anymore, how she had betrayed his trust. A fragile thing, this odd girl, this companionship that he shared with her. Ignoring the involuntary flinches in his body, he had spread his arms and hugged Luna.

Tremors ran through the both of them, though for very different reasons. He who had never provided comfort to others was fighting off the reflexes of his body to move his hands away and disappear into the unexplored parts of the castle. She who had not been provided comfort for two long years was fighting off the reflexes of her body to collapse into sobbing. Neither knew how long the embrace had lasted. By the end of it, when they separated, the fear that Hadrian saw in her eyes was gone and for the moment that was all that mattered.

Even before this event, the Dunderheads had not been polite to her, and with what happened, with her involvement becoming known to them, due to the meddlesome influence of an old man, they had become outright hostile.

And it was all his fault. Luna was a fragile thing, he had come to understand. The insight into the solitary Ravenclaw girl had come from the most of unexpected, but not unwelcome, of places; Eagala and the Bloody Baron. The shade would look upon the girl with something almost akin to sadness in his gaze, and would wonder whether the girl would survive past her first year in Rowena's House. The serpent would look upon the strange girl that brought her food and had cast spells to keep her warm, the girl that brought a new form of companionship to her bonded, and would wonder if the girl would stay true to them should certain things come to pass.

The people whose hairs were used for the Polyjuice potion knew nothing of the events, for it was kept tightly under the wraps by the Headmaster, and Delinda Malfoy herself would never admit to anyone that she had been caught with her guard down and then stuffed into a dusty classroom with her supposed bodyguards. If she were to tell her father anything about it, he would berate and lecture her, telling her how she had disgraced the family name, and that was one of the things she had no wish to experience.

Hadrian had never seen his Head of House's face as emotionless as it had been on that day.


	9. Chapter 9

Daphne Greengrass felt true irritation for the first time in many years. Barely two weeks had passed since she left Hogwarts for the holidays, and he had changed again. An empty classroom had suffered for it, the broken desks and chairs testaments to the temper of a young witch. He had changed and she had not been there to see it.

And it was a change unlike any she could have predicted. She was not the only one surprised to see Hadrian Potter, the Bloody Baron alongside him, go towards the Ravenclaw table and invite someone for a walk. Here was a boy who had avoided physical contact, a boy who had shown no inclination towards friendship for anyone, here was a boy who had just left the Great Hall with a first-year Raven by his side, leaving many a minds whirling at the sight.

It confused her. It worried her.

* * *

The castle and the people within had continued on with their lives, the petrified cat and the muggleborn student all but ignored. No one wished to dwell on these things, the holiday had served its purpose, it had driven much of the gloom away, the feeling of imminent calamity was all but gone. Classes helped in their own way as well, teachers piling on more classwork and homework, anything to keep their minds away from what might happen yet again.

These were the reasons why the Headmaster allowed the Dueling Club to be open for the younger students. This is why he allowed the festivities for the 14th of February to proceed. A quaint muggle festival that had been far more accepted among the public than Halloween. Anything to keep the hostility from reaching a breaking point.

How utterly useless it had all been.

* * *

The Ravenclaws had noticed a change in their, now, yesteryear-arrived oddity. Their words stung less and less, until it reached a point where the oddity would turn around on them, her face devoid of any expression whatsoever, interrupting whatever they might have wanted to say. They knew this change was due to her newfound friendship with the second year Slytherin, that Potter boy, and some of them disliked that he had taken away their fun so easily.

When they returned from the holidays, two months past now, they had seen the two, serpent and raven, roaming the hallways in the company of the silvery shade. The unexpected friendship had broken off some of those who had targeted the girl for pranking and outright bullying, but not all. Not all would desist and give up their easily acquired entertainment.

However, day after day, their words reached less and less, until they reached none of her heart at all. These were the buzzing and chirps of pestering little chicks who had yet to grow their feathers and leave the nest. Hadrian had taught the girl. He taught her only the masks, at first. Soon, sooner than expected, he would teach her the words that would bite far more sharper than any avian beak would. The Bloody Baron delighted in teaching the girl as well, for it was he who taught Hadrian Potter the meaning of words, of how they could be used to harm and prevent harm, he had given the venom that his little snake lacked, and it flourished. Now, he could not deny a certain perverse sense of glee as both his little snake and he were taking away one of Rowena's own and giving her brand new fangs. Soon, sooner than other expected, they would taste the venom of Luna Lovegood's words.

Perhaps some would say that it was wrong for Luna Lovegood to call out a Housemate on her lack of finesse at the table in the Great Hall, of how poor her wandwork was in class, of how lacking her knowledge was for the House that treasured it. Perhaps they would see her well aimed jab at the third year Ravenclaw, Marietta Edgecombe, taunting the girl for being an only child due to her parents regretting the actions of conceiving even one, and call it too cruel. None doubted who taught her the words, who had given her the means and direction on how to nurture fangs of her own, on where to strike and direct her venom at.

Mayhaps some would say Luna Lovegood was no longer the same. She would rarely talk to her own Housemates anymore, other than to reflect a poorly made jab back at them, lacing it with her sweet delusions, now turned into mockery of others, and innocent smiles. Mayhaps it was true. She was no longer the girl that allowed the words of strangers, for that is what all her Housemates were to her, to reach her heart, to be anything more than the sounds of petulant children who demanded attention, however it might have been gained. Some might say she was too cruel, too vindictive. Many of them would not even understand that it was their behavior in the first place which turned her like this. Many of them would fail to acknowledge that it was they who struck first, ineffectively so, and that she was only paying them back, in dividends.

* * *

This was not the sole change that had happened over the past two months. Everyone knew that Professor Snape was a harsh taskmaster, a teacher who was far more strict and far more feared than Professor McGonagall. However, none of them expected for the Boy-Who-Lived to become the solitary target for his, to them, unexplained ire. The number of blown up potions and ruined cauldrons by Longbottom kept rising by the day, and unlike before the Potions Master didn't bother with sending him out of the classroom, he had kept the boy in class, forcing him to attempt to brew the same potion which he failed, over and over and over. It took a serious injury in the classroom, where more than one student had suffered due to Neville Longbottom's ineptness at Potions, before a combined intervention from the Headmaster and the Gryffindor's Head of House lessened the maliciousness of Professor Snape towards the boy. At least, the maliciousness he openly displayed.

Severus Snape was enraged. It was a silent rage with which he was all too familiar with. He had seen history repeat itself, before his very own eyes. It was a somewhat different situation from the one he personally experienced, but the outcome was the same. Gryffindor students got away with minor punishments for a serious infraction, while a Slytherin was blackmailed into silence, and another, an innocent party in it all, was coerced into secrecy as well, purely for the _'taint'_ of association. The fact that this Slytherin was the spawn of one of the Gryffindors that plagued him in his own misguided youth did not escape Snape's attention. Was this perhaps some cruel trick of Fate? To make the brat pay for the sins of the father?

No. Not a brat. Never a brat again. Never again would he see the child in those silver and green colors as a Potter. Never again would he shy away from those malachite eyes that dared to show the emotion behind the mask that tried to hide them all. Whether it was because of the memories of one Lily Evans, that he, to this day, still held dear to his heart, or his natural over-protectivness for his snakes, he would see that the child learned the lesson well from that day.

In his haste on that day to apprehend the Gryffindors, and to deliver them to their rightly deserved punishments, he had overlooked where the child could have gotten knowledge about the Polyjuice potion. The old coot didn't overlook a thing, and Severus, once more, saw the grandfather facade lapse away for a second, before he had extricated the book from the boy. True, the book itself was not technially illegal to possess, it fell into one of those grey area of the laws, no matter what one's age was. Trouble is, it could lead to a number of problems that would arise should someone from the Ministry be informed about it.

Snape knew that Dumbledore would have, if needed, done so, informed the Ministry, no matter that the child in front of him was the offspring of his staunchest of supporters during the war. Albus Dumbledore would look at the bigger picture, and trade away the potential future of one child for the sake of another who held far more value in his eyes. He might even regret it, he might be saddened by the action he was 'forced' to take, but he would do it. People seemed to forget that this was the man that had defeated Grindelwald, that this was the only man that the Dark Lord avoided confrontation with. Underneath all those facades, all those masks, all those variations of the caring grandfather, there was a mind of steel.

Fairness was not what a Slytherin student could count on from the Ministry, no matter how young he might be. Too many former Slytherins had joined the Dark Lord's army, far too many for any of them to be comfortable with the idea that a second year Slytherin held a certain book in his possession, a book that contained, theoretical but easily applicable, _dangerous knowledge_, as Albus had put it. When the boy was questioned on where the book came from, he admitted, _lied through his teeth,_ to buying it himself, though he would not divulge the location of where he purchased it from. As if the old man needed it... there was no bookshop in Diagon that would sell such an item to a minor. No, the book could only be found in Knockturn Alley, in one of the numerous shops that dealt in such things.

Severus didn't know whether to feel some pride for the boy, who had actually braved that part of magical London, or to curse him for being so foolish as to wander off in it. Its reputation was well deserved, and no one in their sane mind would let an unsupervised child go there. Outsiders were treated... a bit roughly around there. Not in the most obvious of ways, naturally, no one wished to draw the attention of the Aurors upon themselves; certain places would overcharge, by a ridiculous amount, others would place perhaps minor hexes and jinx on those dared to brave them and enter their shops, and those who were particularly irksome would end up divested of their galleons, while experiencing some rough-handling, before they were vomited back onto Diagon's bright cobblestones.

Still, the place served a purpose; it allowed a very lazy and easily bribed Ministry to keep an eye on all the purported Dark creatures, witches and wizards. After all, who else would willingly go into Knockturn Alley? It would not matter that the boy's parents died at the hands of the followers of the Dark Lord. They would each project whatever they wished to see, claiming that the child was slowly going on a Dark path due to his parentless status and his House placement. Utter nonsense, both of these allegations. If the mere act of being orphaned drove witches and wizards to becoming Dark, Britain, and the rest of the world, would be a far, far different place. And the latter? It was, in Severus' opinion, a worse bigotry than those of the pureblooded maniacs that had served the Dark Lord.

Every time his mind came across such thoughts, his right hand would move instinctively over his left forearm, where he knew the Mark could be found, hidden beneath the ever-present robes he wore. The Dark Mark. A Mark of slavery. He had a been a damned fool, a blasted idiot, a Gryffindor rather than a Slytherin, to swear allegiance to a madman. Ah, in those days, the Dark Lord had worn his masks far better than anyone else. Far better than Snape or Dumbledore. Undeniably, a fair portion of his followers had already learned what kind of a master they served, and they would look down at the new arrivals, like they looked down upon Severus, and smile gleefuly, glad to see another making the same choice as they did, to reinforce their own beliefs that what they did was right. No matter the cost.

The mask, the charm, the glamors... they all quickly fell away. He was fortuitous that his skills laid in potion brewing, for had they not... the Dark Lord would have had him drowning in blood up to the elbows like he had so many others. There was only one life that he took, the cost of his slavery, the coin he paid for the _privilege_ of his Mark, and no matter, no matter how much he regretted everything else, he would not regret taking the life of the wretch that had driven his mother to her death.

He had feigned remorse, masterfully so, for his audience, the oh so great and infallible Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, later on when he entered his service as a spy, although that was not his intention. His intention was to defect, to escape the madness that kept breeding itself with every new act of mindless and pointless violence that the Dark Lord inflicted upon his enemies and servants in equal measure. The delusions Snape harbored were quickly shattered. Albus Dumbledore had no need for a complete defection, that would be wasteful, and though many things could be said about the Defeater of Grindelwald, being wasteful was not among them.

That blasted prophecy was the cause of it all. That and his own damn foolishness for trying to appease the Dark Lord, bringing him news it, half-heard that it was, not knowing it would lead to the death of a woman, the only one, that he cared for.

When he first discovered who the possible children of the prophecy were, he was beset with fear. With self-hate. When the deed was done... It was a moment which brought him perfect and instant clarity, showing him that despite keeping his hands clean of the vile acts that the Dark Lord and the rest of his servants did, they were still awash with the blood and pain of others. Though the guilt of that was only the barest fraction of the guilt he felt for bringing news of that prophecy. The prophecy that told the child of Lily Potter nee Evans, could be the one to vanquish the Dark Lord. In his mind, it did not matter that there was yet another possibility for the Dark Lord to target, all that he could see was that he had effectively condemned Lily, _sweet Lily,_ to death.

For the third time in his life, he begged. He had come to the Dark Lord, with a plea, with a request, that he spare her, that he abstain from killing her. His soul, what pitiful remains of it existed then, had screamed at him for his utter betrayal; he would allow the death of her husband, of her child, all for the sake of her. For her, he would have let the world burn.

It amused his master to see one of his most stoic servants, the one who was the most aloof of them all, down on the floor, kissing his robes and begging for the life of a mudblood.

_'Ssseverus, you have been a loyal servant, and let it not be said that Lord Voldemort does not reward his servants. I will not kill Lily Potter...,'_ the memory of the words spoken by the Dark Lord still embedded in his mind. That horrific visage of what others might call smile, those crimson slitted orbs... a permanent memory that would play over and over whenever he tried looking at the child of the woman that he loved.

He had been playing both sides of the fence by then, though his true loyalty was always to himself, and no other. Apparating to the edge of the Hogwarts' wards, standing there while Albus Dumbledore held him at wand-point, asking what purpose might a Death Eater come seeking here. The tale of a partial prophecy overheard was told, his audience before the Dark Lord spoken of in exquisite detail. For the fourth time in his life, he begged. A verbal lashing followed from the elderly man. A vow made, _enforced_, to protect _the boy_, not her. He was not allowed to make that vow. He would have to protect the boy, and he would protect her in the process.

But the Dark Lord tricked him. Had Severus Snape's mind not been overcome with fear and panic, perhaps he would have sensed the duplicitous wording of the promise to spare the woman. The madman never said he would spare her. He only said he would not be the one to kill Lily.

He sent others in his regard, a traitor from within the Light betrayed the Potters, while he went on to attack the Longbottoms at the same time, their location extracted from the ruined and ravaged mind of their Secret Keeper.

On that night, many witches and wizards of Britain mourned and rejoiced. The joy overrode the grief they felt, for the Dark Lord had fallen. Vanquished by a fifteen-month old baby, Neville Longbottom. The Boy-Who-Lived through what no other did. A scar marred his forehead, the shape of a lightning bolt, proclaiming him as their savior.

On that night, Severus Snape wept. The woman he loved, the woman for whom he would have given up everything, the woman whom he lost so many years ago due to his own foolish choices... Lily was dead. Dead with her husband. Dead. The whole lot of them. Nothing could quench his grief that night and more than once he felt the urge to turn his wand on himself and end his wretched existence.

He was weak and allowed Dumbledore to talk him out of it. He said the boy had survived. Lily's son survived, somehow, and the Death Eaters that were sent to murder him had been captured before they could finish the job, several of them even dead before they were tossed into Azkaban.

To the public that didn't matter as much as their precious Boy-Who-Lived did. Yes, how sad, the Potters were a good, rather well known Light family. Shame that their family died out like so many others. To the public, the Potters were merely another casualty of the war, while the, now late, Frank and Alice Longbottom were heroes that had helped end the war, even if only by indirect means, through their son, who had vanquished a threat to all their lives.

_'The boy survives, Severus...,'_ went the words of the old man back then. And they were far more wretched to Severus' ears than anything else on that night. Why should he care for the boy? Why would he care for anything when sweet Lily was dead and it was his fault? At that point, he just wanted it all to end. But Albus Dumbledore was not one to waste a useful tool. Severus was reminded of his vow, of his unbreakable vow, to protect the boy, to keep him safe, all for Lily's sake.

The invocation of her name on that solemn night was all that kept him from going beyond this life into what the old fool called the _'next great adventure'_. He was forced to live. And despite his vow, he could not be trusted. Oh the old man had provided almost believable excuses, and had somehow gotten it into his had that a teaching position at Hogwarts could bribe him. Snape had accepted the position, for reasons of his own, and had accepted the leash that came with it, temporary though it might be.

Dumbledore must have sorely regretted not being able to get a vow from Severus that he would be loyal to him. He was not bound, like so many others, some by their own free will, some by the manipulations, to the Headmaster. He was not one of the many believers in the Boy-Who-Lived. His fate, his actions, his choices, his own beliefs, his guilt... they all tied him to one boy, a boy which so wretchedly reminded him of himself. A boy that he would always look upon and see what little remained of Lily in those eyes of his, a boy upon whom he would look and see no longer a brat, no longer a Potter. Only Hadrian. Only Lily's son.

* * *

Hadrian groaned openly once he left the DADA classroom behind. The lessons, if one could call them as such, were getting more mind-numbing by the day. And Lockhart, Hadrian refused to acknowledge the buffoon as a proper teacher, was apparently excited by something he was preparing for all of the school. He had dropped unsubtle hints for a week now, preparing them, as he said, for the grand event. The whole thing was made worse by the incessant giggling from the Gryffindor side of the classroom, with whom Slytherins had the unfortunate luck to share the class with. Looking at the giggling forms of Brown and Patil, he wondered how any of them actually had enough semblance of a mind to brew the Polyjuice potion. It had to be one of the two, perhaps their combined effort at it, since Longbottom and Weasley were absolutely horrible at even basic potion brewing, let alone something as complex as what was made.

His glancing did not go unnoticed, nor did the disgust he felt for the persons upon whom it fell go unseen. She wondered what could have happened during the Yuletide holiday that had caused such hostility between the Gryffindors and Potter. Logic dictated that the huge point deduction for Gryffindor had something to do with their renewed animosity. None of them were speaking about it, and Daphne did not know how to approach Potter about the matter. She had only asked once before, when she returned to Hogwarts, aloud in the common room if someone knew what the point deduction was about, but had yet to receive a reply from anyone. Malfoy was not saying a word, her escorts even less, and Potter... he looked annoyed. Certain things must have happened for the usually distant boy to lose control of his face like that, for surely there was a scowl present when she had brought up the subject once more in his hearing's reach. Oh how she delighted in that. That and the Lovegood girl.

At first she loathed the girl for making first contact with Potter, when one or two of her plans were dependent on her being the first one to claim friendship with the boy. The venting of magic in that one abandoned classroom helped, and her serene and aloof persona had reasserted herself, allowing for the time being for things to happen on their own, without any further input from her. The loathing she felt for the girl had diminished even before February arrived, for she'd been present to one of the verbal lashings that the Ravenclaw girl gave to one of her Housemates. It was beautiful, it was utterly grin-worthy to see this previously shy and distant girl, who had obviously been bullied by her own House, turn the tables on them and lash out. And it was all Hadrian Potter's work. She felt like humming at the sight of a few more lashings that the girl gave out, and the look of pride from Potter while he stood by the sides. Potter had given her the means, and she had employed them as best she saw fit. True, it irked her that they still ventured through the castle together, whenever they could, but to a lesser degree than it had been initially. New plans were being drawn beneath the glacial surface of Daphne Greengrass, plans which included the Lovegood girl, an unknown quantity, though not an unwelcome one by now.

* * *

And then they were shown what he had planned. The sight that greets everyone in the Great Hall on the morning of the 14th of February makes all the boys groan, and some of the girls giggle and sigh at how romantic it is. The great hall is now... pink. Completely pink. Various shades of pink. It is enough to make someone blind with the sheer intensity of things.

Then it gets worse.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted, "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn't end here!"

He clapped his hands and the doors of the great hall, the ones the first years are brought in at the start of the term, open and in come about a dozen, if not more, rather depressing looking dwarfs. Dressed as cherubs. Harps and wings included.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart, "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick seemed to sink even further into his seat and then vanished from sight, the poor man probably disillusioned himself and just fled from the spot. Snape seemed to be contemplating something. Most likely whether a trip to Azkaban would be worth it if he chose to turn Lockhart into potions ingredients, right on the spot, and whether he had enough supplies of painful and agony-prolonging poisons he would force-feed to the dunderheads who would dare to approach him and ask for a Love Potion.

The school was thrown into a mild state of chaos. the _cherubs_ had been tasked by a fairly large number of students to deliver their valentines. The recipients of those either smiled at the silly little things, or would try to run away, to no avail, before they were embarrassed in front of their peers.

Hadrian had to admit that watching Longbottom get besieged by tens of the wretched little things was amusing. Seeing the round-faced boy run through the hallways and getting tackled, then held down by no less than six of them while each took turns in delivering their messages. Some of them had even been songs. One of them had been written in particularly bad form and Malfoy had been unusually perceptive into guessing who had sent the message; the Weasley girl, apparently she was one of the fangirls of the Boy-Who-Lived persona, and she'd been thoroughly shamed by Malfoy's taunting before everyone else. Even Hadrian couldn't deny the entertainment that day had provided for all of them. And watching Delinda Malfoy's face flush with color when she received two or three of valentines of her own was the top of the day.

* * *

He had spent the rest of that day with Luna, mapping out more parts of the castle he had yet to visit before, in talks about how ludicrous the whole thing was and how utterly muggle. It was a delight to discover that Luna also looked down upon the few muggle festivities that intruded upon their world, though she held less animosity for it than him. Hadrian couldn't help but be proud of the girl and how she had changed from the shy girl who could be easily hurt by other's words, words from people who should mean nothing to her, and into a... well, Slytherin was the only appropriate epithet he could think of. She was becoming less of a raven and more of a serpent with each day, and he regretted that she had been sorted into that House, and not his. Perhaps they might have treated her the same in the beginning, had she persisted in her fantasies about certain magical creatures, but he would have spotted her earlier and acted sooner. He had yet to say the word openly to her, to acknowledge it out-loud; friend. That's what she was to him. A friend. A true friend. One that the Dursleys cannot take away from him. One that he would not allow to be taken away from him.

There was a decrease in her once-usual talks about Nargles, Wrackspurts, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and other fantastical creatures that, no matter how much she once wanted to believe in, simply did not exist. Not even in this wondrous world of magic, Hadrian realized. He had come to understand how she came into believing into these things in the first place, and could not deny a small amount of contempt for the man who festered such delusions in his only child. Then again, the man had lost his wife, and it most likely unhinged his mind, which according to Luna wasn't in the best of places even before his wife died. She looked both happy and sad when talking about her mother, the far-away look present in her eyes when describing how the Lovegood home was when her mother, Selena, had still lived.

She lost her life in a work-related accident at home, experimenting with spells, where Luna was the one to witness it happening. He felt sad for the girl; for unlike him, she had grown up with her mother, she knew the woman that raised her from when she was but a babe, she had felt loved, and then she lost it. _'Oh I know father still loves me, it's just, he's not there all the time to show it...,'_ she said to him in that dream-voice of hers. Then she stopped, thinking perhaps she had said too much, too much to him who had lost his parents before he even knew them. Hadrian eased her worry, told her that she did not discomfort him.

There were no memories of his parents, no memory of how their voices sounded, no knowledge if they ever told him that he was loved, they most likely had but he had nothing to prove it. For eleven years he had listened to the lies of a jealous and bitter woman, feeling guilty for even believing it in the first place. What could he have known back then? He was but a child and with no knowledge of this world. Only later on he viewed and reviewed the words that were spoken, suspicions and doubts removing these treasonous thoughts. The only photograph he had of them was the clipping he took from the Daily Prophet, 1981, post-All Hallow's Eve edition, hidden inside his word-keyed trunk. Other than what little he could read about them in the paper's rather small article about their years in Hogwarts, he knew nothing of James and Lily Potter. No doubt the Headmaster or Professor McGonagall might have told him something about them, but he had no wish to go to them for anything. Maybe he would have done it before, before the biased treatments, before the blackmail, but not now. Not ever again would he even think to look upon the two with any semblance of trust. They proved to be unworthy of his trust, what little they had in the first place, and for the Headmaster that spoke volumes.

Luna was a good friend, who had noticed the somber change in Hadrian's mood, and then pulled him away, her arm entwined his own, towards the kitchens where the hyperactive House Elves would easily break him away from whatever thoughts plagued him. It was such a sublime thing for her, she who had never been shown anything but mocking smiles in this school before, she who had been shown the rare few and true smiles from Hadrian Potter, to have a friend who cared for her and she for him. She had not mentioned to Hadrian that she had been approached twice from her Head of House, the diminutive Professor Flitwick, about her verbal lashings towards her Housemates. He had reprimanded her for making more than one girl cry with her words, taking minor points, as if she cared for those, in an effort to tell her that her way was wrong. Luna didn't bother with telling the man that they started it all, that they were the first ones to start hurtling insults her way, that they had stolen from her, leaving her belongings all over the castle.

The former no longer touched her, and the latter had not happened for quite some time. Perhaps it was due to her spending so much time with Hadrian, being seen by others in his company? Luna didn't care, he provided friendship, safety and comfort to her, and she would see fit to provide at least some of it back at him, if not more. Her friendship with the youngest Weasley was now only a memory, a painful one, but just a memory. A memory best forgotten. She had Hadrian now and she did not intend on letting this friendship decay as the previous one had. Their placement in different Houses was just an excuse, a delusion of her mind, to somehow mask that perhaps Ginevra Weasley no longer wished to be her friend. It was a self-concocted lie. Hadrian was a Slytherin, and a year above her, and still he found the time, the will to seek her out in their free periods and spend time together. True, he had not spent all his free time with her, after all he had his own studies to do, but he had made sure that when she was alone that none could harm her again. It hurt her to acknowledge that the friendship she had with the youngest Weasley before was perhaps not a true friendship, but one born out of convenience's sake.

Luna snatched these thoughts and threw them away, proceeding to giggle inwardly at the thought of the upcoming event, where Hadrian had promised her entertainment that he would provide with the help of certain Gryffindors.

* * *

The first day for the Dueling Club arrived with great expectations and trepidations in equal measure. Notices have been posted in all of the common rooms over the past few days, telling all that they could participate in the Dueling Club should they wish it. They only had to show up on the morning of the 21st of February in the Great Hall.

When the students arrived, they noticed that the tables upon they usually dine upon have been moved completely to the sides, and a number of dueling platforms have been raised in the center of the room. The students mull around, from first years to sixth years. Students in their seventh year abstain from the event, expecting nothing from it and preparing instead for their own exams which will help pave the way for their futures.

The dueling club turns out to be a disaster, as almost everyone with an ounce of brain expected, what with Lockhart being in charge of it.. The first... duel, if one could call it so, begins when Lockhart call on his _assistant_, Professor Snape. The Slytherins smile at what is to come, while the other Houses wince at what is going to happen, knowing that despite their dislike of the man, he is infamous for being a skilled duelist, something he learned in the years from before teaching at Hogwarts. Unlike Lockhart, Snape is dressed in proper dueling robes, black naturally, ones that would not flair around should the need for elaborate movement arise, though it's very doubtful it will. Lockhart preens like a peacock in one of his gaudish bright robes, as if the whole thing was a theater play.

"Now then, I don't want you youngsters to worry," Lockhart says, flashing that bright smile of his at no one particular in the room, "you'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him?"

If Lockhart had actually paid attention to his opponent, he would have forfeited the match before it even began.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the widely recognized dueled stance. On the count of three, we will cast spells against each other. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

The last sentence was very much a point of discussion later on, as right on the count of _'.. three!'_ Severus Snape called out the spell, despite not needing to do so, '_Expeliarmus!'_ which was powered by more brute force than needed, and ended up more than just disarming Lockhart. It completely pushed into him and bounced him against the wall behind, from which he slumped down on the ground. He was lucky that Professor Flitwick had the foresight of putting cushion charms on all the surfaces in the Great Hall, otherwise he might have ended up with a concusion, at the very least. A small price to pay for a new DADA teacher, Hadrian thought. Maybe they should all be subjected to their Head of House for testing. If they manage to best the man, they can have the job. Because as the rest of the school oh so quietly says, there's not a man in the school who knows more about the Dark Arts than Professor Snape.

After pretending he intended that to happen, and seeing that some people actually fall for it, even after months of seeing the man blunder his way through lesson after lesson, Hadrian felt bile rising up but Luna's giggling at the sight did away with his ill mood. Snape sends a mixture of a sneer and scowl at the man, causing him to stutter, to the heartsome amusement of the Slytherins standing in the room. Soon enough, they begin to pair off students against each other on the numerous dueling platforms, Lockhart seeming to have knack for finding the simpletons in every House and pairing them off with the more vicious students, that Snape himself picks out. More than one Slytherin smirks at the chance of putting the other Houses down for the treatment from last year.

Zacharias Smith is called out and Snape is quickly to pair him off against Hadrian, knowing how the boy slandered his parents and how he was one of the more aggressive Hufflepuffs in their agenda against Slytherin when the petrifications started. Smith looks very uncomfortable on the stage, and Hadrian allows his mask to slip, showing off the glee he will have with the boy. No, not a quick defeat. A play with the prey.

He allows Smith to start off first, as he yells out jinxes, hexes and tries to disarm Hadrian. The jinxes and hexes are blocked by _Protego_, a feat which surprises some of the onlookers, while others look with pride at one of their own, while the numerous _Expeliarmus_ spells are dodged by simply moving to the side. Hadrian shoots off a spell to the boy's right, and thus forces him to fly straight into his spell which keeps his mouth shut, leaving him unable to yield or cast anything. When he tries to raise his hands in sign of surrender, Hadrian doesn't let him. He shoots off a hex that makes him twitch and spasm, thus not allowing him to stand still and surrender, like he planned to. Stinging hexes hit the boy's stomach, chest and crotch, his legs and in the end one lands on his forehead. Hadrian lets the boy go with a single _Expeliarmus_ overpowered, though not to the same extent as Professor Snape's, enough to send him flying from the platform, landing on the floor with a loud thud, despite the cushioning charms effect. The Hufflepuffs take note of the vicious and playful disposition of the Slytherin and wish very fervently not to be paired off with him. Hadrian is paired off eventually with a few more students, these ones chosen by Snape for invoking his ire during classes, before a Gryffindor rises to the challenge. How utterly predictable.

Finnigan. Hadrian doesn't play much with the Irish boy, and chooses to send him on his merry way quickly off the stage, a single dodge from him and a single _Expeliarmus_ fired at him, the match is done. With the Gryffindors, he doesn't play. He humiliates. Weasley is up next and suffers the same fate. Even Patil rises to the challenge for some reason, proving herself far better than the previous two, trying to catch Hadrian in the same tactic that he used with Smith, firing off a spell in one direction and then another in the other, trying to catch him in between them. It lasts slightly longer and then she is blasted off the stage as well, her wand and posterior on the floor.

And then Longbottom. The cowardly lion. His face looks more determined than Hadrian recalls ever seeing it, and is surprised that the Boy-Who-Lived does not bow to his opponent, only scorn present in his eyes. As if he had anything to be scornful for against Hadrian, when in fact it was the reverse. Despite the initial claims and semi-plea, semi-order from Lockhart that they stick to the disarming spell, no one listens. And most certainly not Longbottom, who fires off an _Incendio_ at his robes_, _then a _Tarantallegra_ at his legs, missing completely and hitting the absorbing shield set up around the dueling platform, preventing any spell from accidentally harming the students positioned around it, then a _Petrificus Totalus. _He has trained for this, Hadrian notes, as he dodges a _Densaugeo_ from Longbottom, firing off an _Incarcerous _in return, which narrowly misses the blonde boy who's now sweating profusely from the movement he's forced to exert. Hadrian smiles and decides to play.

To those who are watching the duel between Slytherin and Gryffindor, this is a rare chance to see just how much second year students are adept at dueling. They are impressed by Longbottom at first, after all could they expect any less from the Boy-Who-Lived, and then their admiration, however grudgingly admitted, turns to the Slytherin. While many in his year knew him as a distant boy, and noticed that only just this year he had started socializing with someone, someone who is not even in the same House as him, very few knew of his wandwork. The very few were those who he had inadvertently rescued when he confronted the various groups of students from other Houses that tried to intimidate the younger and often outnumbered Slytherins. The Carrow twins shared a grin when they saw how Potter was playing with Longbottom, dodging some of the spells, deflecting others, and firing off his own at the Gryffindor Golden Boy, tiring him out with the constant dodging that he needed to do to avoid getting hit by any of the spells.

There came a point to end the toying with the cowardly lion, Hadrian knew, and prolonged it just a bit more, wanting to see the chubby boy's knees tremble from the exertion forced upon him. He wanted to see this boy humiliated before all others, he wanted Luna to laugh and smile at the pitiful sight of the one who mocked her along with the others, he wanted to show him that _he_ was better. That despite all the bias, despite his moment of accidental fame years ago, he was just a pampered and coddled boy. A Dudley in Gryffindor colors. That is what flashed before Hadrian's eyes when he ended it; his pig-in-a-wig cousin; he ended it with the spells he had already made the boy experience before. _Morsus_ hexes leaping from his wand, flowing fluidly, and hitting all over his body. He hit the legs first, making Longbottom wince and fall down to his knees. He hit the top of his head next, making him drop his wand and raise his hands to protect the sensitive spot. He hit the hands, red welts covering the soft skin... and finally, he hit the boy in the stomach with a _Jacio_, throwing him off the platform and landing him on the floor while he still spasmed in pain that Hadrian had inflicted.

Only once he was done with it, once the adrenaline was gone, did he notice that Lockhart had been yelling at the two of them for some time now, mostly about how they should have used only disarming spells. Typical. They complain now that their precious Boy-Who-Lived was thoroughly thrashed, but would they have done the same if it happened to him, a Slytherin? Unlikely. He saw the ugly glares that the Gryffindors were throwing at him and graced them with a true smile in return, indicating that they are welcome to jump onto the platform and try to best him. Before any of them moved, a hand was laid across his shoulder and when he turned around he saw his Head of House looking at him, a glimmer of something... pride?... in his obsidian eyes.

"Enough," Snape sillently commanded, "you will exert your core before you are done with all the dunderheads of Gryffindor. Besides, Mr. Potter, I am sure your Housemates would like to have a go of their own as well."

Hadrian nodded and inclined his head towards the man in gratitude, he knew he should have stopped even before this, but it was too much enthralling. He honestly did enjoy the dueling, even though some of it could not be called that at all. For now, he would consent to stepping away and resting for a while. When he stepped off from the platform, Luna went to greet him and extended her left arm to his, which he took right away. What happened next caused more than just a few shivers to those that watched, as the familiar shape of the serpent familiar that Hadrian Potter kept with him at all times made its way from beneath the robe's sleeve of the Ravenclaw girl and onto his arm, nuzzling into his face before slithering her way beneath his robes. As she settled around his chest, coiling itself tightly, clinging to the warmth he provided, he felt another touch across his shoulder, a familiar coldness that eased the tension from his body.

"Good morning, your Bloodiness. Enjoying the show?" he asked the silvery shade with respect and politeness in his voice.

"Very much so, little snake. One day you will make a spectacular duelist and even more," the response came from the Slytherin ghost, followed by a short bout of dark laughter, "The Gryffindors, I trust, have learned their lesson from today."

"Doubtful," Luna said, "they seem fascinated by how many times they can get bit a serpent until they keel over, your Bloodiness," which prompted another bout of rich-in-tone laughter from the Bloody Baron. The girl was becoming less like a raven by the day.


	10. Chapter 10

In the midst of shivers of unease that flowed through the crowd of observers, a shiver of pleasure snuck by and no one had noticed. If there was a word to describe what she saw today, she would have to contend for a while and in the end simply state: beautiful. Truth be told, she had been expecting something like this to happen, though the intensity of it was beyond any prediction in her mind. The build up of animosity and hostility, and sometimes even outright hate that she saw pouring out from those dark green orbs was undeniable, between Potter and Longbottom would eventually come to a confrontation. And what a confrontation it was.

As if he had not proved his worth before, with the other students, toying and humiliating, dueling and winning, he had done so much more with his last opponent. There was almost a scent, a taste, in the air of his desire to completely crush the other boy. Unsurprisingly, the Boy-Who-Lived was proving to be nothing more than a persona. Despite his attempt at trying to defeat Potter, he was seen as a pitiful thing in her eyes. But really, what else should one expect from second-years? Well, apart from what she expected from Hadrian Potter and perhaps a few others. The rest... they were simply being true to their age.

Still, there was one moment, just that briefest of seconds, when he spoke in an even tone, uttering _'Morsus!'_, hitting Longbottom in the legs, there was a look of viciousness, of cruelty, of things she had never before seen on his face, before it was replaced with a detached look as he continued to pelt his opponent, _his enemy_, with hexes. She was not gullible to think she was the only one to notice such a sight, yet there was an odd feeling about it, as if this belonged solely to her. And in a way, it did, for if she had not given him the book, would he have been like this now? Would he have stuck to the same, ineffective, spells that Longbottom did?

One thing that besmirched that prolonged tinge of satisfaction was the shared intimacy between Lovegood and Potter. She had come to terms that the girl was his friend now, and that she would need to be factored into her plans, but that didn't mean she had to like anything about the girl. Watching Lovegood so casually take hold of Potter's arm, allowing his familiar to easily slither her way across and back to her master did not sit well with Daphne.

* * *

Greengrass' eyes weren't the only pair that had followed the Potter and Longbottom duel with keen interest. True, there were the many observers that watched the duel with interest... interest aimed at Longbottom. Only a few had watched Potter, a few who wanted to see how the boy would behave and react during the duel.

The tunnel-black eyes of Severus Snape took in every movement from the boy, how his body posture was already set in the appropriate dueling stance, his branch-like wand at the ready and firmly in the grip of his thumb, index and middle finger of his right hand, the other hand held behind his back. He smirked internally, while his face remained unmoved, at the sight. No doubt some lessons from the Baron that the child had learned before, since it was very doubtful that they were taught that in their first year, and no doubt at all about Lockhart being too busy preening in the classroom in front of children, the only audience which might believe his exploits, to even consider teaching them something actually useful.

Really, what was Albus thinking when he hired that idiot? While he was prone to call the old man a fool quite often in the privacy of his mind, the Headmaster wasn't that great of a fool to completely ignore the obvious fraud. Most likely, it was just one of his way of keeping the cursed position filled without the interference from Ministry, for why sacrifice someone worthwhile when there were plenty fools to spare? Oh no doubt the old man justified it in some other way to himself; in the end, it was similar to chess, trading away pawn after pawn after pawn, in hopes he might get something of worth in return.

His errant thoughts were shunted aside when he saw the spark of _Incendio_ leave Longbottom's wand, causing a sneer to appear on his face. Typical, the brat is so full of himself that he does not even bow, and starts out the duel with a potentially harmful spell. Well, at least his snake knows better and merely deflects the weak-powered spell. Dancing legs jinx, enlarged teeth jinx... the Longbottom brat's arsenal of spells is pathetic. And he doesn't even realize that the spells that miss him just narrowly aren't even truly aimed at him, their aim is his stamina, and clearly the brat is unused to physical exertion as he quickly tires himself out.

When the first stinging hex hits Longbottom, Snape sneers, partly because the dunderhead was foolish enough to stand still when the spell leapt from the wand, allowing it to hit him in the legs, just below the knees, making him buck forward and fall down, and partly because it is expected of him from all who might be watching. It's truly a pleasure to see a Gryffindor, and their Golden Boy at that, _humbled_. Potter does not desist and humiliates Longbottom, hitting him on the head, then arms and then a throw-back jinx, not a _Depulso_ which he was expecting, but rather a less known, but equally effective spell serving a similar purpose, which bounces off the Boy-Who-Lived down to the floor.

The other Gryffindors, and some of the other Houses, those foolish enough who lack the willpower to restrain themselves, glare with dirty looks at now triumphant and smiling Slytherin. Foolish boy, he's done enough for today, more than enough, in teaching them humility. Now is the time to rest, and when Severus Snape places a hand, barely touching, over the boy's shoulder, he feels the flare of the child's magic still swirling about, almost like static electricity is bouncing against his palm. '_How unusual, the boy enjoyed that,'_ Severus notes and instructs him on abstaining from dueling for today. Thankfully, his instruction is heard and obeyed, and the dueling platform is now free for new contestants to come up.

* * *

A pair of old, yet still sharp, blue eyes observed the whole affair, hidden from plain sight behind a simple spell. Originally, he came here to supervise, knowing that not even the presence of multiple teachers could not keep things in order if the event somehow escalated. There was the usual amount of House rivarly, nothing too much out of line. Slytherins seemed to be picked out the least by all Professors for the duels, preferring to pair off other Houses and only Severus seemed to choose Slytherins, predictable really, and set them up against the students that Lockhart had picked out.

Merlin's beard, he was getting worse by the day. Still, the school's term isn't that far away and he would be dealt with, one way or another. He never intended to harm the education of children. But the number of people whom he trusted for that position was limited, and he would rather not waste his allies to test out whether the curse would try to finish them off before the year was out or not. Men like Lockhart were unfortunatelly not that rare at all, and they were expendable in the name of the greater good. Not all ended in bad ways when the year was up, some had simply drifted off to better employments or decided to abandon the post for other reasons. The few who had entertained thoughts about staying for another year... well, they had their own fair share of misfortunes. Maiming seemed to be the easiest way that the curse disposed of them. He'd tried to dispose of it, to remove it, year after year after year. Ten years spent in effortless research and experimentation, earning him only the knowledge that he could not remove it. Only a person of certain ancestry might remove it, and it was doubtful that the person that placed it originally would willingly dispose of it while he remained Headmaster of Hogwarts.

No, now was not the time for such thoughts. The students needed looking after, some more than others. A few even showed some promise for the future, but he was here for Neville, who had abstained from dueling so far. Thus his attention shifted to another boy; Harry Potter. _'Hadrian Potter,'_ his own mind corrected him. The boy never allowed him in the first place to call him 'Harry'. He could not surpress the regret he felt for having to take certain actions in the recent past, it truly had pained him greatly to see the child of James and Lily Potter turn out so starkly different from what they were like. Where James found friendship so easily on his first train ride to Hogwarts, his son didn't even strive for it until the second year. Where Lily was forgiving, though she had her viciuous streaks, her son was anything but. Where both of them were Gryffindors, their son was a Slytherin. Could it be that? Could it something just as simple as that, placing a child into a House, that was in his opinion, unfit for children at all? Not for the first time since his tenure as Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore thought of doing away with the Sorting Hat. And as with every time the thought crossed his mind, the castle would express its displeasure and bring down the pressure of mere existence upon his mind. The Founders made sure their magic could not be tampered with, not if you wished to live past the intrusion into the intrinsic magic that they wove into the castle's very foundations.

So he turned his thoughts away from that, and back onto Hadrian Potter. In the meantime, his eyes had caught the event while his mind was otherwise occupied. The boy's behavior bothered him on a fundamental level, he toyed with a few of the students that he dueled against. It was easy to see that he did so on purpose, though only against a select few. Then Seamus Finnigan came up to the stand. And quickly left it when he was thrown from it with a single spell. Then another Gryffindor. And another. And then young Neville. He should have perhaps stopped it at one point, where it became obvious that Hadrian Potter simply out-powered and outmaneuvered Neville. But he didn't. He stood there, just like many others did, and watched how the young Slytherin pelted the Gryffindor, noting the savage glee that was on his face in one moment and gone the next, with spell after spell, until he humiliated, thrashed and crushed his opponent, _his enemy_. What was troubling is that Harry, _'Hadrian',_ Potter used again the same stinging hexes, the ones they never taught or mentioned at Hogwarts, on Neville with malicious intent. It would not do much if he were to ask the boy where he learnt the spell, the answer would be most likely of evasive nature and Albus did not feel that, though highly intrigued and concerned about where the knowledge had come from, this warranted a usage of Legilimency on the child. Not yet, at least. He had interfered too much already by taking that book away from him.

This did not bode well for the future, Dumbledore knew. While he did not truly expect great prowess in dueling from the boy, what he saw here, just a few moments ago, being outplayed so easily by his age peer, that was not acceptable to Albus Dumbledore. He ignored for now the problem that might develop in the future, a potential feud between Longbottom and Potter, and focused only on brewing and concocting plans for improving the public-proclaimed icon of the Light and his skills in the near future.

* * *

The dueling club went on, and more students had filled up the Great Hall, most just watching, some approaching the Professors and asking to participate. The dueling platform where Snape and Lockhart regulated who would participate gained the most interest, even though the event of the day, as some were calling it, was already done with. When some students expressed disbelief at the stories told and retold, they would be merely pointed in the direction of a small Gryffindor group of students where the Boy-Who-Lived sported very nasty looking red welts across his hands, and their gazes would then turn onto the one who inflicted those. Their attention would shift quickly when someone new was announced to being called out to go to the dueling platform.

The next duo that climbed onto the upraised platform were an unlikely pair, even in a duel.

Delinda Malfoy is a prideful creature. From the day she was born, from the day she was self-aware enough to understand words and their meanings, lessons had been driven into her mind. The first and foremost of all: Pede poena claudo. And her retribution was indeed coming to a close. It had taken her some time, and even a bit of her personal allowance granted to her by her mother, to find out what had happened. Had the perpetrators been a Slytherin, which was an improbability since the only Slytherin left in the castle during Yuletide was Hadrian Potter and he had not shown any sort of enmity towards her, despite their occasional clashes, she would have never found anything about it. Slytherins learn to cover their tracks well. The Gryffindors... not so much. They have the awful tendency to talk in places where they can be overheard. And for that, she was grateful. She seethed when she found out about the Polyjuice incident, it explained the reason behind the points deduction, and why Professor Snape was dreadful to the whole Dunderheads group. She hated that she could not voice a true complaint. Not now, not after all the time had passed. Her father would call her a fool for not informing him of this sooner, and she had no wish to hear more of her father's lessons. No, she woul only apply one of them on her intended target.

Parvati Patil. The petite Hindu witch that somehow gotten her, _'Delinda Malfoy!'_ her mind protested in indignation, hair and then impersonated her. Still, she was thankful for small mercies, and glad they had gotten caught by someone, most likely by her Head of House, but that did not lessen the shame she felt at being jumped upon so lightly and then doing nothing in restitution for the offense. Well, the time had come for it now. Delinda Malfoy had no intention of letting the witch, _the bitch,_ get off easily for her transgression. Watching the duels that happened before had almost swayed her mind to doing something akin to what Potter did to Longbottom. She had grudgingly admitted to herself, and would never do so out-loud, that he was perhaps more of a Slytherin than she gave him credit. In the crowd of Slytherins, where they all stood together, near each other, in the faux unity before the school, before the other Houses which would eagerly pick them off one by one should they disperse the illusion of unity, she had laughed, along with the others, when the Gryffindor Golden Boy had been brought to his knees. And then further humiliated, abjectly so. Perhaps Potter wasn't that bad. He had not befriended mudbloods or blood-traitors, as she initially thought he might. Morgana's eyes, he didn't befriend anyone until just last year during the holidays. An odd, quirky girl, to say the least, but at least she was a pureblood. Maybe there was hope for Potter after all.

The wandering thoughts were shook away when her Head of House called to her, and she made her robes, and the clothes beneath, cling slightly more tightly against her body with a flick of her elm wand. She really did love the wand, both her mother and father had expressed pride when she had been picked by one such as this, especially as it came with a dragon heartstring. The elegant design, almost perfectly suited to her feminine beauty, to her complexion and her hair colour, fit her like a glove. Delinda supressed a smirk on her face and kept it poised up as if she was holding court and the opponent they were bringing to her was a prisoner to be sentenced. And what a sentence she had in mind for the witch.

* * *

The duel started off between fairly standard, the usual exchange of first-year and second-year spells they had been taught, one of the participants not noticing the intensity of spells rising and the shine in those stormy-grey eyes of her opponent. The people that were watching, students and staff, did not expect much from the match, other than the usual Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry rising up to the surface.

It turned out more than that. Much more.

* * *

Severus observes the duel with boredom in the forefront of his mind. The duels after Hadrian Potter had been dull in comparison, but then what could he expect from such an unusual child, who befriends the Bloody Baron, brings in a serpent familiar and befriends the odd first-year Ravenclaw before anyone else from his own House? The thought nearly caused a tug on his lips.

His mind flicks away thoughts that way or another, while his eyes keep close watch of the duel that's been going on for a few minutes now. The mind is reeled away from whatever pondering it was headed to as he recognizes the wand movement that Delinda Malfoy is finishing just now and her mouth utters the words that would most likely make her wind up in detention again and lose points.

"_Serpensortia_," she almost purrs the word, a smile evident on her face.

Severus Snape scowls, while many onlookers gasp at the spell's results; a desert cobra appearing out from the outstretched wand, right down in the middle of the platform. The reptile coils upon itself before rising menacingly in the air, its hood flaring and now staring around at everyone. Mentally sighing, Snape makes his wand appear from out beneath his sleeve and into his pale, spidery fingers, ready to banish the serpent from wherever it came from.

"Nobody move," he commands to the students that are now backing away in alarming speed from the platform, "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart, brandishing his wand at the snake and a loud bang followed his hand's movement; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor, closer to Parvati Patil, with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight towards her.

Snape accelerated his own approach and had the banishment spell already in his mind, but found himself prevented from acting. For an inexplicable reason that he cannot even begin to comprehend, Longbottom had rushed out from the crowd and came alarmingly close to the dangerous serpent. Spectacular, just what he needed, a lecture from Albus later on as the brat lies in the hospital wing, recuperating from a poison bite.

His worries were for naught.

The unexpected and unwelcome happens.

The boy hisses. A sound which should not pass human lips, it is not the sound a reptile might make when hissing, it is utterly inhuman and human in its roots. It is terrifying, and Severus suppresses a shiver at hearing it. The serpent turns to Longbottom and looks at him oddly, as if contemplating something and then bares her fangs at him, before turning back to Patil, hissing in a threatening manner.

"_Vipera Evanesca,_" the words leave his mouth, vanishing the serpent to wherever it came from, too late to prevent what just happened. What had just been uncovered and exposed for all to see. The absence of noise in the Great Hall is deafening. The aftermath that followed even more so. Accusations, outrage, shouting. And then from out of nowhere, the Headmaster appeared, demanding silence, trying to soothe nerves, to allay fears. _'Too late for that, you old fool, now you've got to explain why your bloody Boy-Who-Lived is a Parselmouth,"_ Severus muses, not without some small amount of satisfaction at the old man's impending troubles.

* * *

In the sea of widening eyes, escaped gasps, cries of fear and panic, stomping of feet running away and coming closer, a pair of eyes that seem to bore into Neville Longbottom, for a reason completely unknown to all but this particular mind, go completely unnoticed.

The word had spread, faster than the first petrification. Predictably so, nearly all of the school turned against him. Their precious Boy-Who-Lived. The Gryffindor Golden Boy. He was shunned by most students now, receiving dirty looks, hateful and fearful glares with each passing day.

The Boy-Who-Lived was a Parselmouth. Even his own House looked at him oddly, keeping themselves at a distance from him, though not going as far Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw did. Slytherin however enjoyed the whole thing, because the focus of the school was no longer on any of them, but a Gryffindor instead. Poetic justice perhaps?

The boy could be seen now only surrounded by his closest friends, the four never leaving his side, in classes or outside of them. Several students noted he had gone to visit the Headmaster on more than one occasion since it happened. Many had expected the Headmaster perhaps to allay the student body's fears and concerns, expected him to speak out at dinner time and tell them everything was alright. Many had looked up to the grandfatherly Headmaster, only wanting to have their worries taken care of.

No such thing happened.

* * *

_It started out the same, as it always had. Nothing changed for the second calling._

_A dark place, a faint glimmer of something moving within it. Something else. The shape of a person undetermined, a part of the blackness that engulfs all. For reasons unfathomable, it provides safety._

_A grinding of stone. No. Words spoken from a distance, a hoarse throat brought to life._

_Something moving across an endless surface of dirt. An echo. A scent. A color. A hiss. An indication. A word._

_**"**_— _**are **_—_**"**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**6th of May, 1993**_

Despite the return of the foreboding atmosphere in the castle, everyone waiting for something to happen again, Hadrian Potter was feeling... cheerful? There was no more need to concern himself about whether that group of Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs would hex or jinx him behind his back, there was no more need to join in the groups with Zabini, Davis and Greengrass, he didn't enjoy the company as he had very little, except schoolwork, to discuss with them. Though Greengrass was an oddity in the group. Or rather, she was similar to him, he noticed. She just hid it better or the others noticed it less; there would be a group of girls sitting on one of the sofas in the common room, and she'd be in the middle of it, a part of it, yet completely outside of it. On some level, the blonde-haired witch intrigued him, Eagala had told him about the few glances the girl would steal his way, for one reason or another, and his mind would not find a single reason for her doing so. Other than perhaps her being a girl.

No, such thoughts were rather too... un-Slytherin. Even the girliest of girls in Slytherin behaved with impeccable behavior. Though they did not restrain themselves as much when inside the common room, as they were free from the looks the rest of the school might point their way and could be more or less what they truly were. Children. Being in Slytherin made you forget they were all children, some of them a bit older, some of them younger, and he, so distant from it all, from all of them, from all except the Bloody Baron, Eagala and Luna, would often forget he was one as well.

Luna. She was the reason he was here now, trying to put his thoughts on a piece of parchment, even though other things tried occupying his mind. Trying to find a way to tell something, to express anything at all. He had already started over twenty times with the bloody thing and he would always find a flaw in the first sentence or two and then vanish the ink from the pages, starting it all over again. Why was it so hard? Was this an admission of sorts? Was this one way he could tell someone about what he felt? Would he show this to Luna?

He was thankful for the privacy charms that Yvanna had taught him the past summer, though the smile she wore when teaching indicated she intended him to use it for something else than when he wanted to be alone. He was thankful, because he didn't wish to be seen with his face buried in his hands, his hair falling all over the place, each strand its own nation, and Eagala nuzzling him in his moment of weakness. Even in his own room, that he shared with Zabini, he didn't want to chance it and cast them with as great intent as he could ever muster for it. The brushing of Eagala's scales, her cold reptilian body against his neck and cheek, is what brought him out of it finally. He'd decided. If he can't write it all out decently and explain everything in detail, he'd settle for the most direct and succinct way. Hadrian settled back into the chair at his desk, placed his glasses back on, bringing the world back from its blurriness into sharp focus, dipped the quill in the ink bottle and wrote it all out in one simple and pure statement.

* * *

There. The deed was done. It was finally gone, safe in the talons of a Hogwarts owl, to whom he promised many treats should she deliver the message within the day. The avian looked at him very strangely, as if doubting his words, but gave out a single _'Hoot'_ which he assumed was her assent, as that was when she took off. What a wonderful bird she was, pure as snow plumage and the most beautiful shade of amber eyes. Planning on staying true to his word, he made his ways to the kitchens, going on through the castle by himself. Well, not truly himself, he still had Eagala. She counted more than just as a familiar, more than just any other person in this school, _in his life_, barring Luna with whom he considered her equals.

Again his thoughts wandered to the dream-faced oddity that had become a part of his life here in the ancient castle. Though there was a barrier now between the world and her, that he helped her built, there were no such things between the two of them. She still enjoyed talking about everything that she enjoyed talking about before. Sans the Nargles. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. Occasionally she would still bring up those fantastical and mythical creatures that her father kept on preaching about at home, but the way she spoke about them gave him a semblance of hope that they were no longer the delusions that her father gave to her. There was still the air of otherworldness about her, one that she only showed when they were alone. He enjoyed that, truth be told, and wished he could share something perhaps as important of his with hers. Not yet, not yet. There were still many things to think through, all contingencies to plan for. What if she rejects him? What if she doesn't want to spend time with him anymore? What if his forays into the castle's hallways become as they used to be? He hated the pang that he felt in his heart at the thought of returning to how it was before. It's not that he would ever be bothered by the presence of the Bloody Baron, it was just... he needed human companionship. He'd been isolated for so long, longer than just this bloody school and though he wished he could snap away from it with logical precision, the need for another person's presence, he couldn't. Logic didn't work there, arguing with himself even less so. Whoever won in a shouting match with themselves?

His mind twirled and twirled while his body carried him on his way, working on muscle memory, on auto-pilot so to speak, to the kitchens where he would procure the treats for that lovely owl that took his letter away. He'd passed a few Hufflepuffs along his way, who gave him only cautious looks, nothing like what they did when the petrifications started, and found himself standing in front of the familiar painting. Tickling the pear with his index finger, the painting moved to the side and he entered it and the noise from within engulfed him. Busy as always, the House Elves scampered about the quite exceedingly large kitchen, always making sure that there was food for anyone who wished it, should they sit down at the tables in the Great Hall, at anytime. He'd asked them once what they did with the food when it was not eaten by anyone and they simply explained they placed it in stasis, with their own brand of magic, and then reheated it whenever someone expressed a desire for any of the meals already prepared. When he asked with one of theirs if they could perhaps prepare certain meals for him, they gladly listened to him and made sure that his instructions were followed about the food and how it was prepared. The others at the Slytherin table had looked at him confused when they saw the food that appeared at his seat, which was rarely the same as theirs. Though not all looked confused, the older students only allowed small, almost unnoticeable, smiles to appear on their faces, as they already knew how it came to happen.

"Hello, Tally," he spoke, genuine politeness in his voice, "How are you today?"

"Oh, Master Hadrian sirs," the House Elf called Tally spoke back, "So kind to ask about us, we're fine sirs, no needs to worry. What can we do for you?"

He liked the little Elf, he really did. She was the only one to use his first name, the rest often called him Potters or Pottery, one had even called him Potty, but he didn't feel insulted. It was just the way they spoke, and he couldn't begrudge them for that. That however didn't mean he'd like them using those names. Tally was a recent addition to the castle, separated from her Mistress who had died of old age and without a family to keep the somewhat younger House Elf employed; she'd only been taken on as the old lady was _too_ _old_ and not fit as she was to wield her wand for even the simplest of household charms. The death of her Mistress didn't bother the little House Elf, she'd knew it would happen sooner than she'd like and what mattered to her was that she was there for her Mistress. Tally told him about it, in her gentle, high-pitched and distinctivly hyperactive voice, when he'd taken the time to talk with the Elf on one occasion. Those big blue globes of hers had even teared up at the retelling of the memory. Since then, he'd usually pick her out amongst everyone else and ask for anything he might have needed.

"Nonsense," he spoke, truly meaning the words, "I don't need to worry to ask how you are. Just normal politeness," the smile she gave back at him, even while she stirred whatever concoction was in that basin, was threatening to split her head right down in the middle, "Now, I'm not sure if you perhaps have this in the kitchen, but I figured this is the best place to ask... I'm looking for some owl treats, best kind if possible, to give to an owl that agreed to fly off with a letter for me. Do you have any perhaps?"

"Yes, yes, Master Hadrian, we do have them here. Just a moment, sirs," and with that the Elf left her place in the kitchen, the basin still being stirred, with a non-audible _pop_ and then reappearing with a small pouch held in her hands, offering it up to Hadrian. He took the pouch and saw various multi-colored sticks inside the pouch, raising an eyebrow at the sight.

"Oh, it's just what the owlies like, Master Hadrian, bacons and mices mostly, the wizards and witches who make them just shape them that way, the owlies love it, sirs, I swear!"

Hadrian thanked Tally and bid her a nice day, leaving the kitchen and its noise behind, the pouch now tied up with a string of rope and in the safety of one of his robe's pockets. Eagala shifted under his clothes, easing up from her stranglehold on him and conveyed her displeasure at being brought into the kitchens once more, the smells there didn't suit her rather sensitive senses and she was always irritated when brought there along for the ride. Of course, she still accepted the food that the House Elves always would bring out, from somewhere, just for her, and greedily gulped it down to be digested.

Now that the treats were secured for the owl when she came back, presumably later in the evening, it was time to secure some food for himself. The Great Hall wasn't all that filled with students, mostly Ravenclaws and Slytherins present in it, with the odd Gryffindor or Hufflepuff sitting at their tables, and it suited him just fine. He quickly walked to his spot at the table, the one next to where the Bloody Baron would usually almost-sit when attending one of the mealtimes with him, and the food appeared. As it was only barely past noon, just a solitary serving of rag pudding and a glass of milk, along with a small pitcher filled with it for additional refills, appeared at his side, with the required utensils for enjoying it.

It was during a rather intensive session of chewing that a few students had broken into the Great Hall, running for all they were worth to their tables. Hadrian only noted their tie colors, Ravenclaw, before dismissing them from his mind. What with the proximity of the Ravenclaw table to the Slytherin's, he couldn't help but overhear some of the things they talked about. At first the words were jumbled up too much for him to even try to discern what they were trying to say. Then the word _'petrified'_ came up. That got his attention pretty well, so he settled down what remained of his meal, drank the last bit of milk from his glass, wiped his mouth clean with one of the napkins, made sure that none of his robes were stained with food and then eased himself into listening more intently.

_'Another petrified! Except, this one's got a ghost along with her!'_

Her.

Ghost.

Petrified.

Subduing the panic that threatened to well out from inside him, he turned around, his fingers already instinctively twitching for a wand, and faced the Ravenclaws that were not-so-subtly whispering.

"What happened?" he inquired, politeness in his voice as these Ravenclaws had never been one of those to bother Luna.

They looked at him, confusion shown on their faces for all to see, most likely surprised by his intrusion into their talk. Or maybe because he was a Slytherin. Who knows?

"Ehr," one of the three, a boy, maybe in Hadrian's year, maybe not, started speaking, "There's been another attack. Third floor, L—," he stopped himself in time when he realized what he was going to say and to whom, "Luna Lovegood and the Bloody Baron."

Barely nodding at the boy, and remembering his face for later on, Hadrian Potter left the Great Hall behind. To those that saw his passing through the hallways of Hogwarts, up across the moving staircase, he almost seemed panicked. But that was nonsense, the second-year Slytherin, often simply referred to as _'Potter',_ had no possible reason to be in a state of panic.

He easily found the place where it must have happened as the commotion in the hallways still persisted. After some mild pushing and wandwork to make a path for himself through the crowd he came through and saw it. Nothing. The crowd persisted even though there was nothing there to see. Without looking whom he roughly pushed aside with his shoving, Hadrian's mind too occupied with what might have happened, he made his way towards the hospital wing.

Predictably so, there was a congregation of Professors in the hospital wing, mutterings and talking with one another in one of the corners. None of the words they spoke reached him, their presence was at best a blurry shape in his world now as he made a straight line for one of the occupied beds.

It was a horrific sight, to see the silvery shade that had been his companion for two years now, lying so still, its face frozen into stillness, he whose face never stayed so still. His clothes didn't ruffle or move, his eyes never blinked, he just laid there. The Bloody Baron laid low.

Hadrian turned away from the sight, feeling the cracks in what self-control he could muster. His eyes now fell upon Luna, laid down on the bed, still wearing her school robes.

She looked so still, even her straggly hair petrified in this unnatural state. Her eyes opened up so wide, so grey now and lacking their blue hue, no longer the far-away look in them, no longer the dream-face that he saw so often upon her, her mouth laid partially opened. It appeared as if she was just about to start forming words, but the mouth never moved, the lips never parted, and no sound ever came out. The reality of it was too much to bear, too much to endure. The cracks in his well built wall of self-control gave birth to shattered pieces, the shattered pieces melded and formed into a gorge, the gorge spawned an abyss. And the abyss screamed.

* * *

A fair distance away from the ancient castle and its grounds, a snow-white owl was resting upon a perch inside a dim-lit establishment, many humans looking at her plumage, which she displayed, puffing out, in pride. The human female she brought the letter to had given her just rewards for services rendered. Maybe the other human would keep his words about treats after all. Her avian stomach now worked its way to digest the juicy rat that had been swallowed whole mere minutes ago.

The blue-eyed witch who had been the recipient of the letter could not help but smile, the words written out on the piece of parchment had lightened her mood for the night. Possibly for the next few days as well. She reread the letter again and again, before deciding there would be enough time for this later on, and moved on from her place behind the bar, leaving the parchment in the open, and the words clearly displayed, in their inky glory.

_**'Yvanna, I've made a friend.'**_

* * *

Fear returned to Hogwarts. Fear, distrust and dread. Suspicions, accusations, outrages... everything was as it was before the Yuletide. The small and fragmented groups were now swallowed up in the crowds of their own Houses, none willing to try and dare, to brave, the castle by themselves, fearful they might become the next victims. Almost all now walked within groups. Almost all.

On the day, on the night, when the petrification of the first-year Ravenclaw and the Slytherin ghost had happened, many had truly panicked. What could possibly do such a thing to a ghost? Especially to one such as the Bloody Baron. And what's more, the petrification of the odd girl from Ravenclaw and the Slytherin ghost had upset a balance of sorts. A balance none knew even existed.

Some had perhaps thought that the boy would become more withdrawn, going back to how he had first been in this place, a solitary individual with no desire to reach out to anyone. Some had even thought that without the ghost's presence, the child's confidence would crumble, and he would be less of a nuisance to them.

It took them the placement of five Ravenclaws and three Slytherins into the hospital wing to learn otherwise. Of course, no victim's hand pointed in his direction and the injured were claiming they did not see who had attacked them. Perhaps some had expected him to become unhinged, flailing madly in his apparent grief and distress. Perhaps they expected him to crumple into himself, forgetting the world, the school and the other people around him. What it did was far more terrifying, for some, as the only thing that had happened was that he had no restraint anymore.

It was the Slytherins who had mocked the girl first, two boys and a girl that he never noticed before as they were a year above him. Two boys and a girl he did not hesitate with, that he did not regret sending straight into the wall of the common room and striking them with spells. It took more than a few moments of stunned and surprised disbelief before he was told to stop by an older student. What that student would not mention is the look in the second-year's eyes, the way they seemed to be calculating whether he could be the next one to suffer under his wand. Instead, the glint in those dark and inflamed eyes passed away and the three who had provoked his ire slipped down onto the floor, bruises, welts and cuts plain for everyone to see on their skin and tattered robes. Their Head of House was informed but was kept away from the information of who the attacker was, though they all knew that he already had a name.

The Ravenclaws suffered worse, their impromptu duel taking place on the moving staircases, which fortunately at that moment had decided to not move around too much. They were barely noticed when he passed them by, and the same was for him, barely being aware of someone he had passed by. Until he heard the word. _Loony_. The fact that these were fourth-year students should have mattered, but none expected the viciousness, the sudden and utterly malicious surprise attack from one to whom they were seniors in their years at Hogwarts and superiors in knowledge of magic. They lacked intent, however. He did not. The knowledge did not soothe their egos, nor did it help them mend their legs any faster, or heal the cuts, or hide the red markings of his silent and constant rage, as they lay in the beds of the hospital wing, which were slowly becoming more and more filled by the day.

And not all had suffered from the same ebony wand that placed them here.

* * *

Watching. Waiting. Holding her breath. It was all she could do without pushing him over the edge herself. Without pushing him across that line that separated him from who he once was and what he could become. What she wanted him to become. What she needed him to become. Thrills of pleasure started running through her nerves more often in the last two weeks, ever since the Lovegood girl had gotten herself petrified, and the Bloody Baron along with her. There was a smile, ever-present on the inside, hidden away beneath the masks she wore, beneath the glacier that she took for herself, that she molded for her safety and comfort.

If words were necessary to describe Hadrian Potter, and how he had acted for the past two weeks, they would be found lacking, insufficient. One word might be potent enough, encompassing enough to describe him, though she would argue it was still inadequate; beautiful. A beautiful sight to behold, to witness his now-permanent rage, not ebbing, not quivering, not shutting down, not disrupting him in the slightest. Occasionally when she passed by him close enough, there was a tingling on the outermost edge of her sense, the potential for what she needed screaming from that distance, which might as well have been astronomical, as he still did not seek to reach out to anyone else and she dared not to reach out to him. Not yet.

She was not oblivious that many had expected him to crumble away, to start degrading in his academics, to start showing some weakness. Yes, some might still misinterpret things and think this a weakness, but it was anything but. Loss made him stronger, made him more aware, made him more determined to excel. Not all of their Housemates saw him as often in the library as she did, perusing through dozens of tomes per day, seeking out and devouring knowledge at an ever-increasing pace. There was most likely a part of him which sought out knowledge that would help the ghost and the Lovegood girl, anything else was just gorged upon in the process of seeking. More than once, she had witnessed Madam Pince trying to move him out from the library when curfew approached, and more than once she was turned away, not a word said, by the looks he gave to any who approached.

The teachers had noticed his change as well. Whereas before he had done his classwork and homework on par with the best in their year, he now was _the_ best in their year. And most likely the year above them, if the titles of books, that laid on his desk in the library, were what she thought they were. During Transfigurations and Charms she would see his body tense up, eager for any practical work, eager for any sort of release, just to vent, just to push off the magic that had started accumulating inside him, _around him_, just to push it somewhere else. In Herbology he would methodically and efficiently dig through the dirt, easing the pressure with his hands enough to handle the dangerous baby Mandrakes they spent their time with. Astronomy he dealt with easily, finding constellations with surprising ease and answering Professor Sinistra's questions as soon as the older witch asked him. History of Magic was an entirely different matter, though unlike most of their classmates, he did not use it to take a brief nap, choosing instead to focus on finishing whatever homework there was or reading up on yet another book that he took out from the library until its pages gave up the knowledge contained within. Now, Defense against the Dark Arts was highly amusing, Lockhart seemed to move on from his Longbottom fixation, possibly because of the boy's Parselmouth revelation in February, and, for an inexplicable reason that none of them even wished to theorize about, tried to include him in the dramatic reenactments of the tales from his books. A look from those eyes, and a firm _'No'_ made Lockhart stutter out something and then move on to another student. And finally, in Potions he seemed to relax. She could almost imagine the tension just flowing through his shoulders down to his hands, where it would be absorbed by whatever ingredient he was preparing, or the stirring of the cauldron that he was doing. Odd thing about it was the few looks she saw their Head of House give him when the man thought none would see. None would see, for none were as focused as she was on him.

'_No doubt he wished for more idiots to speak out and say the wrong things in his presence, so that he would have an excuse to lash out with more than just words,' _she noted, taking in how his face took on a strange expression whenever he used his wand and the spells he knew so intimately to vent, to lash out, _to_ _punish._ After the incident with the Ravenclaws, other students started paying more attention when he was passing by, wisely shutting up before saying something they might regret. Not all knew of what had transpired to the Slytherins and Ravenclaws that ended up in the hospital wing to be treated for their injuries. It was probably their own self-preservation instincts flaring, not wanting to tempt fate, not wanting to find out how vicious this particular Slytherin could be. Some of the older students watched, in anticipation, some of them almost like her, licking their lips and waiting for the inevitable to happen.

It was such an amazing sight, back in the common room, when he struck out first against the three offenders. Really, did Lenkin think she could honestly taunt him just because she was his senior by a year? And those other two she wrapped around her finger, Melwin and Vandergrut, were apparently as dumb as they looked when in her presence, echoing her words around the common room. What an extraordinary sight it was, to behold him striking out first in near silence, the only noise that escaped his mouth was the calm and clear enunciation of the spells he used. She'd never seen him before use _Scindo_ on anyone, and her eyes weren't the only ones that widened when he had used the heavier, more dangerous version of the Severing Charm on them. That was their mistake, underestimating him, thinking he would stick to the spells they were taught in their normal schoolbooks. Which he might have done had she not given him the book in their first year for Yule. Or not. It was an uncertainty that she wished to explore further, knowing he was learning spells beyond their grade, knowing he was absorbing, gulping down every incantation, emulating every wand movement, until his own thirst was satiated, until he was content that there was nothing he had learned that could help the two that laid petrified in the hospital wing.

He reminded her of her own first forays into seeking out knowledge for something other than just pure knowledge's sake. Like it was with her, the knowledge would stay within the confines of his mind, even when the current situation was resolved. How would he use it, though? And how could she come to use it as well? Would he let her use it? The others she had planned on pulling into her reach, similar to what Lenkin did to Melwin and Vandergrut, were forgotten for now. What plans, what schemes, she had for them were unimportant, inconsequential from then on. He was the appetizer, the main course, the dessert and the finish. He was what she wanted. And he would be all hers. The rest of them who might have thought to perhaps approach him after the situation was dealt with and finished wouldn't stand a chance. Nor would they approach him as willingly as she will, not they with the doctrines of their parents so thoroughly drilled into them.

If there was one thing that she did regret about the whole situation, it was that he was a rare sight now within the common room, barely spending any time in the same armchair that he occupied from when they first arrived at Hogwarts. Though when he did, his familiar was right in the open, effectively pushing away anyone that might have even entertained a thought of approaching him. Having a venomous reptile coil itself upon your lap and nuzzle against your skin tended to have an unnerving effect on others, Slytherin or not. There were times when she wanted to approach him, to come near him and not say a word, but only lay a hand on his familiar, to somehow convey to him, and to others, that this would be something he should get used to. It was a pleasant thought, which lasted only a few moments, as she was not foolish enough to think that was a feasible thing with the way things were currently. Perhaps next year.

Hadrian Potter was proving more and more worthy of her and Daphne Greengrass couldn't help but contently sigh with thoughts of what the future may bring.

He only had one more step to take.

* * *

The end of the school year was fast approaching, just a little over three weeks left. Just little over two weeks left until the Mandrakes matured and the petrified victims rejoined the rest of the school. He was antsy about the whole thing. He was nervous, though he never allowed it to show, his wand barely left his hand anymore, he could not stand the absence of the branch-like wand between his fingers. Eagala was the only thing helping him keep it under control.

He no longer needed to hear the words to know what they were thinking. The looks they gave him when he came close, or when they saw him from a distance and then moved away so his path would not come near them, the whispers he could almost swear to hear trailing behind him, carrying their rumor-mongering, their fear. It's been a week now since the last incident, since the last confrontation and that one had happened, unfortunately, in plain sight of others. Someone had gone away and fetched a teacher while he kept his wand tip pressed into the Ravenclaw's cheek.

"Do you understand?" he asked the offender, the repeat offender, pouring all of his disgust for the girl into every word, every syllable, ignoring the tears that threatened to burst from her eyes, "Do — you — understand?" he repeated the question in a hiss-like manner.

"MISTER POTTER?! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?" screeched a voice behind him in an unusual pitch.

Before he turned around to face whoever interrupted him, one of the teachers no doubt, he inhaled quickly, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, before he could be sure that all traces of emotions was as subdued as he could make them. An exhale and he removed the wand, the girl slumping down on the floor and against the wall, now openly sobbing.

The interruption came in the form of the Charm's teacher, Professor Flitwick, who also coincidentally was Head of Ravenclaw. There was a slight sheen of sweat, so it was clear that he had ran as fast as his diminutive form could afford. The Professor's gaze flicked between Hadrian and the girl lying on the floor, recognizing her a moment later as Marietta Edgecombe.

"Mister Potter, care to explain?" the question was spoken with a strained tone.

And Hadrian's reply was a simple, "No."

Forty points were taken and two weeks of detention. Before four days had passed, he had earned the points back, but the detention was still going on. He didn't like it, he shouldn't have acted so rashly in front of others, he should have waited, waited until there was no one in sight and then made the girl _understand_. Foolish girl, did she honestly think she could speak such filth about Luna and him? Eagala had been roused from her place beneath his robes, asking him to let her sink her fangs into the girl, and let just enough of her venom into the bloodstream so she would remain paralyzed and in pain. This was not the first time Eagala offered up her venom for him and truth be told, it was a far too tempting offer to let her loose.

Not sure of himself at times he asked of Eagala to keep Luna's petrified form company while he was away in classes. Other times, in his free periods and on weekends, they would both go there, spending hours in silence, reading a book that he brought from the library, watching over the two people in this castle that he... that he cared about the most. Even in the privacy of his mind, it was a frightening thing to admit. Caring. Caring for the shade of a man that has been dead, undoubtedly, for centuries. Caring for the girl whom he had befriended only a scant few months ago. Caring at all. He would have wept for both of them if he had not forgotten how.

* * *

It was bound to happen and those who kept an eye on this particular student knew it was inevitable. Despite the talks some of them received from their Heads of Houses, the words never truly sank in, they never got through. The teacher's words never got through to him either, incomprehensible and irrelevant buzzing was all he heard when it came to that particular topic. He was the one at fault here, he knew as much, he was the one who escalated the events from mere words to spellcasting. Always so one-sided were these confrontations, despite what some of his peers and seniors tried. None matched his intent, none matched his will. None but her, and she would not reveal it until the appropriate time approached.

* * *

She considered herself fortunate on that day. Prime seat, some would call it. Prime seat to something she had been eagerly anticipating all year. Something that would show her what he truly was. It happened the way these things usually do, when no one noticed, when no was paying attention, when everyone's minds have been focused on the ever approaching date when the victims would be unpetrified and the mystery might be solved.

It happened in the empty DADA classroom. Lockhart had just absconded from the class after exposing the second years, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, to another 'practical exam' as he called it. Which meant that he tried showing off and it ended up blowing up in his face, while the students had to fend off for themselves. It also helped to empty out the classroom, though she was more reluctant to leave, having seen the expression that flickered across his face. Enthralling, that's how she would later on describe the look on his face. Captivating, luring her in and telling her to stay, though he had not looked in her direction, not even once.

The pixies were making a mess again. Pulling students by the robes, some by the hair, some by the bags they wore across their shoulders. Yet he was so still amidst the chaos, and none of the pixies seemed to notice him. In the span of a single inhale and exhale, a bluish hyperactive shape seemed to notice him standing there, seemingly unaware of things that were happening around him. The little creature grinned, showing off its teeth and made a straight line for him.

It didn't reach half its intended way before it burst apart, splattering the students that were beneath with its body parts and what passed as blood and organs. The classroom stood still for a moment, even the other pixies remained unmoving in the air, only hovering and watching what happened to one of their own. All eyes zeroed in on the wand that was raised high in the air, as if it was stabbed. The familiar branch-like shape and its pitch-black color told them all that they needed to know, as if the pale hand that was holding it, and the crest displayed on his chest wasn't enough to say who he was.

Unaware she was holding her breath, Daphne waited. Waited for when it would all break down. Faces adorned with disgust, some even with fear. More than a fair share turned a sickly pallor at the sight of the remains. And the smell. It hardly bothered her. All that existed for her in that moment was the look on his face, the subtle exultation, the way his features moved, almost unnaturally, forming into what was turning into a smile infected with madness. The calm lasted another moment and no more.

Girls shrieked, the boys yelled, and he only continued the flow of spells, stabbing the air. _Diffindo, Scindo, Morsus, Defodio, Reducto_... it was all the same and ended in the same manner, more and more of the pixies ending up dead before the small number that remained took their chances and flew out of the classroom and into the hallway. Only a few students were left inside the classroom now, only he, only she and a few others that she barely bothered acknowledging even existed. Even her robes were covered with the remains of the little inhuman wretches, nothing that a spell wouldn't fix, but not quite pleasant either. And his were already clean, as if nothing had ever touched them. There was a shiver of pleasure when malachite met jade for one moment, the need welling up inside to come closer and feel, _taste_, the swirling of magic that would undoubtedly be uniquely his. Even from across the classroom, something oppressive, almost suffocating in intensity, could be felt for a moment, a moment that should have stretched out into eternity. And then it was gone.

His eyes lost the glimmer, his mouth remained still and no longer curled upwards, his wand gone from his hand. There was a passing thought of reaching out to him when he passed near her, nearly brushing against her, and she had to enforce every bit of the mastery of herself she had learned all those years ago, just to remain still, indifferent, as if she had not witnessed it.

The event was not over yet, voices were heard on the edge of her awareness of the surroundings. Her eyes sharpened the world back into focus, bringing the conflict that was about to repeat itself into her mind.

"You really are dark! I knew it! I knew it all along!" screeched the voice of the annoying redhead that wore the colors of Gryffindor. She looked him over and the boy utterly disgusted her. His friends, the two girls and the other two boys that tried to pull him back, out of the classroom, out of Hadrian Potter's sight and reach, weren't much to look at either. Really, the Boy-Who-Lived should at least try to look presentable, especially since he was a pureblood. His robes were covered with more than just one sliver of pixie remains, his hair matted with fluids she really didn't wish to consider where they came from, and his round-face flushed, making him look as anything but the Savior the public loved to call him. Her observations did not go any further, as she heard the voice that held her interest far more tightly than she would like to admit.

"Weasley," no taunting, a warning perhaps unto itself, "What you _think_ you know does not concern me. Now, move aside, I'd like to go and eat before you make your own way into the Great Hall and ruin what little appetite I have in me now."

_'The glimmer may be gone, his face may retain its neutrality and his control over it may be near-perfect, but the voice... oh how he is betrayed by it,'_ her thoughts went.

The redhead flustered, flushed and stuttered, obviously unable to compose a retort back at Potter. Perhaps it would end there, perhaps today had reached its peak and sh—

"Just leave him be, Potter. He's done nothing to you," the Boy-Who-Didn't-Know-When-To-Stay-Silent said.

Though it was true that she had seen Potter smile more and more often as time went on this school year, those facial expressions were still not common. She treasured each of those smiles, all of them belonging solely to her, even though she had nothing to do with any of them. At least, nothing directly. His laughter was even rarer, like finding a mother pearl in the desert. Oh what a sight, what a sound it was, to hear him laughing before these Gryffindors, the sound more whipping and punishing than any jab he might have spat back at them. It was a treasure unlike any other, one that she would keep safe.

"Delude yourself if you must," he said, breaking away from the laughter, as if it didn't happen in the first place, "But don't lie to my face. He's done plenty, and more than with just his mouth, as have all of you. Now, _move_."

"Just because you're a pathetic and lonely git, doesn't mean you have permission to act like this to us," one of the girls snapped at him, Brown if Daphne remembered correctly, and she apparently lacked the brains to stop herself from talking any further, so Morgana only knows what she contributed to this peculiar group, "Just because Loony is now ou—"

Perhaps she should thank the girl. She truly did not expect two events, so close to one another, to happen today. There was the glint, there was... no, no smile here. No smile for any who insulted those close to him. How close, she could not guess, but close enough that the suffocating feeling was back. And she welcomed it.

"_Morsus_," more of a hiss than an incantation, the wand back in his hand, the spell strikes the Brown girl on the face, prompting a scream of fear from her friend, a scream of pain from her, and scream of outrage from the boys that surround her. Their wands come out, their spells fly, most missing their mark. Most. A sharp intake of breath and a look at his face tells her all she needs to know. It doesn't last long, it never does when he's involved, no matter how fervently she wished it could be prolonged. Last man standing, so to speak. Though not without his scars. A tattered sleeve, his wand's holster visible from beneath, a grunt of pain as he inhales and exhales, a cut on his jawline, dripping blood down on the floor, lasting only for a few moments more before he turns the wand on himself and murmurs _'Episkey'_, sealing the wound, but leaving a trace of it behind.

She's nearly oblivious to the teacher that comes in and observes the sight, the only thing she's able to focus on is him. She doesn't hear the words that McGonagall says to him, she doesn't hear the number of points deducted, the number of detentions added. She only sees him. And a momentary flicker of hurt across his face.

In the privacy of his room, he knows what needs to be sacrificed to unlock the book.

He's known it for days now. He avoided it, avoided to look at it, avoided touching it.

His thirst drives him like a slave, and in turn he drives the thirst.

Blots of ink are vomited unto the once blank pages of the Brown Book.

* * *

_It started out the same, as it always had. Everything changed after the third calling._

_A dark place, a movement within the absence of light that lays claim to all. The shape of a person, a part of the dark place. For reasons no longer denied, it provides a home._

_A rupturing sound of thunder, breaking apart the ground. No. Words, shouted from a distance, a booming voice proclaiming._

_Something moving across the endless blackness. An echo. A scent. A color. A hiss. A statement. A word._

_**"— worthy."**_


	12. Chapter 12

"Albus, we cannot let this go on," spoke the strained voice of Minerva McGonagall, trying very hard not to slip into the brogue Scottish accent, "Ms. Brown and Ms. Patil are still in the hospital from yesterday, Ronald Weasley is limping and will continue to do so for the next week and Mr. Finnigan is barely able to hold a quill in his right hand, let alone anything else," here she took a moment to compose herself before continuing, "Poppy tells me Neville's ribs are still bruised, though healing, and he is in the same spot as Mr. Finnigan, unable to use anything with his wand-hand, which I assume was Potter's goal."

There was a sharp intake of breath by many in the staff room that had been listening intently, for rarely had Minerva addressed someone simply by their last name, unless she was greatly displeased with them or on good relations with someone from her own House. And as Hadrian Potter was not a Gryffindor... well, let it be said that even Gilderoy Lockhart, with his short tenure at Hogwarts, understood the underlying meaning.

Everyone looked expectantly at Severus Snape, perhaps waiting for an explanation of the boy's action. They received no other reply but that of a sneer and scowl combined, sent each of their respective ways. He had no intent of telling them the reasons for Potter's actions, they would only see it as him trying to justify them, when it was anything but. There was no point in explaining to the others how the girl had been mocked with a certain monicker of her given name, how taunted and bullied she was before Potter interfered, how her possessions were being stolen by her own Housemates. Truth be told, Snape did not concern himself too much with the girl, she was not of his House after all. Potter had intervened in his own way and taken care of things. As for the staff, it would come one way in and go out the other, as the saying goes. They would show, and perhaps even feel, remorse and guilt at not seeing it before, talk to the girl, and not the perpetrators, and it would continue, just hidden beneath the surface. Snape would not tell them, or anyone else, that in fact he had found flickers of pride within himself for the boy's skill with magic in conflicts where he was outnumbered. And unlike the rest of the staff, he was keenly aware that the Edgecombe girl and the Dunderheads weren't the only students who had found themselves on the end of malicious hexes and some outright curses from Potter. It was a concern where the boy might be learning these spells from, and then there was the concern that he might learn too much. It was a train of thoughts he did not wish to pursue for the moment, so he settled back into listening the inane prattle of his colleagues.

They argued back and forth about what to do and what not do, which lines were meant to be crossed and which not, while Albus Dumbledore sorely wished the matter would pass into different hands, and not his. What was he to do with Harry, _'Hadrian'_, Potter? The others did not know about the other confrontations that the boy instigated, far from student's eyes, far from most portrait's inquisitive gazes. Most. The incident on the moving staircase where the child had faced against five older Ravenclaws, leaving them with broken legs, open cuts and red swellings, was the one which concerned him most. Though Harry was not unscathed by the event, the wheezing in his breath and the pained expression on his face telling the tale that not all of the bludgeoning hexes had missed their mark. It was his hope initially that the boy would go to Poppy and seek medical aid for himself, thus giving Albus a chance to have a somewhat private conversation with him. No such thing occurred and the next day there was no sign of discomfort present, so he could not try to push one of the teachers into sending him off to the hospital for a checkup, without a just cause. And now there was this, yet another incident with Neville. This hostility between the two surely must have started out as something more than just simple House rivalries.

* * *

The day was well along when Hadrian Potter finally woke up. It was to extreme soreness, tiredness and ache that he awakened, a sour pain coursing through every limb of his body, every nerve inflamed and overstimulated. With the first few blinks of his eyes, he could imagine pain coursing through those too, as the very act of blinking invited profound pain of exertion. Even the pendant he wore on a silver chain seemed far too heavy for such a small thing, as it pressed down onto him, imaginary threat of crushing him with its weight fleeting through his mind. Looking upon himself, he noted he was still wearing the school robes from last night, and his memory, at the moment, could not provide a reasoning for this. The only time this had happened before was when... the Brown Book. Hissing out pain as he put himself in an upright position, supporting himself with elbows, he saw the wretched, _the beautiful,_ thing laying at the end of his bed.

_'The last sacrifice,'_ his mind supplied the information, while his body was still getting accustomed to being in such a miserable state. The last sacrifice indeed; it was a wonder that it was not perhaps his ultimate sacrifice, for at one point he thought it was death approaching and not the blissful dreamless dreamlands. Even now, he could hear the words of Professor Snape telling him about the dangers of depleting one's own core. And he, like the fool he was, did it. Nay, he overdid it. The last sacrifice, the ultimate sacrifice. All for the sake of ink upon those abhorrent, _enthralling_, plain-looking pages. It took all he had, all that he had to give, all that he had already given, and nearly drank him dry.

It took him careful experimentation and some theorizing on his own free time to divulge what the Brown Book asked, _demanded,_ of him. He did not feed it much at first, only a few trickles of power, of pure magic, of _his_ magic, were allowed to depart from the tip of his ebony wand. Oh how it hungered, how it craved more, much more than just his magic. It asked all of him. At one point he had considered turning over the damned thing to his Head of House, a book should not ask or demand things of its owner. A book should not be nearly-sentient, despite all the magic around him, the very idea of it was something repulsive on a subconscious level. A book would be loved, cherished, cared for, but it would, _should_, stay silent forever, only giving up its knowledge to those who might peruse it. A book should not have drank in his blood. A book should not have soaked up his emotions and the thirst for knowledge. A book should not have needed all that and his magic, in the end, to give up its secrets.

Unable to keep himself upright any more, he only grabbed the book and placed it beside him, as his elbows gave out and he fell down to mattress and pillow beneath him. Even now, he could not help himself, breathing with great labor, as if the act was so monumental and demanding to keep all of his attention focused on it, as his fingers caressed the Brown Book, caressed its spine, as a humming coming from it became more clear and vibrant, though it did not rise in volume. Even so, in such a state, he recognized the feel the Brown Book gave off to him. How could he not? It was him. His magic, the sharp and swirling feeling he had become accustomed to over the weeks that he was bereft of his companions. Aside from Eagala, which he only now spotted lying a bit away from him in slumber, this was his constant companion for the time when he was devoid of any.

His emotions, his subdued emotions, fueled the magic that was coiling itself around him for the past month. It had started out so small, so simple, and every new day, every new day where he was denied the living, breathing, changing and moving presences of Luna Lovegood and the Bloody Baron, in his case sans the first two states, the energy, the sensation, the magic, the power, would build up. It would swell, unseen to the eye, but not to all the senses. At times, it was as if a burden was placed around him, trying to make him crumble inwards, constricting his movement, wrapping itself around him to suffocate and make his very being breathe out its last breath. At times, it provided comfort, a familiar humming, a steadfast companion, an imaginary serpent that coiled itself around him, ready to uncoil at a moment's notice and sink its fangs into the first trespasser that might have come too close.

It was that which provided the nudging, the subtle pushes over the line which he stepped over far too gladly in the confrontations with the other students. It was that which gave him the fangs, which provided the venom to lash out at others. It was that which craved more of the short-lasting clashes of magic. It wanted to test itself, it wanted to strike first, second, third, fourth and last. It wanted conflict. And oh how he had given in to it. That day, it seemed so far away, like remembering a distant event and not as if it happened yesterday... whether it was simply his logic telling him that things would go haywire in Lockhart's classroom, or whether it was his magic anticipating and predicting the impending chaos, he didn't know. He was grateful for it however, as it already made him prepared, mentally and physically, for the spells he would lash out with. Unknown to the others in the classroom, he had been reciting the incantations in his mind, as a silent prayer that they would be let loose from his wand. And when that utter fool had freed, once again, the pixies from their cage, he could have almost imagined that his magic had purred at the opportunity.

One after another, the spells flew, cutting the pixies apart, blasting them into very small pieces, pelting them so much with _Morsus_ that their bodies couldn't endure the strain of pain... it sang. His magic sang and buzzed so loudly everything else was irrelevant. Only the _here_ mattered. Only the _now_. Only the _flow_. Only the unwitting targets for his emotional turmoil, which had been pent up for far too long now.

It ended far too soon and until it did, he was unaware that his face had disfigured itself into a very unpleasant smile. It fell of his face with haste and he wished to depart the rather empty classroom, where only he and a few others remained. Among them was Greengrass, looking at him so oddly, unlike anything he had seen from her before, there was a glimmer of interest in her eyes and something more which he could not recognize. Eagala's words came to him in that one very brief moment, of the girl stealing glances, of the girl observing him with hunger in her scent. Had Eagala perhaps been a human, and not a serpent, he might have tried dissuading her, telling her that it was a mistake, that she saw something in the blonde witch's gaze that was simply not directed at him or even there in the first place. It was only a moment's passing when his eyes met hers, a moment which he wished to recollect upon perhaps later, but was interrupted from his predetermined goal.

He truly did not wish to be bothered by others at this moment, when his magic still sang and cooed to him, expressing gratitude he was unwilling to accept. How odd it was, to try and deny a part of himself. The wretched Weasley, the ever-running-mouth Brown, the Irish-boy Finnigan, the pig-in-a-wig Longbottom and the Patil girl, with whom he had very little quarrel unlike the rest. His emotions surged high up at the sight of them, and the magic fed on them ever so eagerly, promising a swift resolution to the conflict that was bound to happen now. He did not wish for it, he knew that he would leave them in a similar state, or worse, as the Ravenclaws that he encountered in the first few days after Luna and the Baron had been petrified, he did not wish for it because it was so easy to act upon the instinct, the need to strike first.

Unfortunately, he was not given a reprieve. Weasley's accusations of him being 'dark', whatever he meant by that, didn't bother him, it wasn't even the looks the other four were giving him when he retorted back. But Longbottom simply couldn't keep his mouth shut, he just had to speak, to say the words, to attempt and turn this as if it was something he was at fault for. _'Done nothing'_ the words went. Hadrian only laughed at the grand delusions the Gryffindors believed in. And then Brown started talking. Unconsciously, the wand slid from its holster and into his eager hand, the handle being gripped between his thumb, index and middle finger, ready and waiting. Just waiting for the inevitable excuse she would give him.

_Loony_.

It was enough. It was more than enough, as honest hate and rage intermingled, as his magic uncoiled, had been unleashed in that first _Morsus_ he pelted the girl's face with. Then the screams. Then more spells. The dodging. The impact of spells fired at him. The breathing. The torn sleeve. _Reparo_. The wound. The blood. _Episkey_. Just like that, it was done with, a sense of glee, of joy, of his magic's renewed humming, permeated his senses at seeing the Gryffindors so indisposed, _in pain_, on the floor. McGonagall showed up quite quickly, scolding him, scathing tones and words hitting upon the wall he had constructed, brick by brick, to keep the world at bay. Points taken, detention given. Then the words.

_'Your mother would have been ashamed of you...'_

Oh how it sang, oh how it wished to strike out, to lash out, to punish, to induce pain, to pour out every malicious and vicious thought and have the elderly witch screaming out in pain for the offense she had given. It was such a small thing. To give in. To will his wand back into his hand and... and he knew he would not get far. There are limits to how far intent alone can carry a person. Sense and reason managed to get a hold of his body, restraining it, subduing the twitching in his fingers, subduing as much as they could of his face, not allowing anyone to see that the words had hit something true and through. Unknown to him, the brief moment of exposure had been witnessed by a certain green-eyed witch. Had he known, he would have torn through the library at Hogwarts, devoured all the knowledge that he possibly could in the span of a single day, in order to obliterate that memory from her mind.

Oh how it called to him, the Brown Book. How it enticed, delighted, enthralled... it provided the means to his ends, whatever they might have been. And he'd given in, so tired of being helpless, so tired of being unable to find a way to help either Luna or the Baron, their forms as frozen and unchanged since they day they were found, so tired of the other people he conflicted with getting away with such minor consequences. So he gave it his all. For all the _good_ it did. Battered, sore and feeling like he had gone through a round, or ten, of 'Harry Hunting'.

He paid no further heed to the Brown Book that rested by his head on the pillow, for the dreamlands had come for their due.

* * *

Fortunately for Hadrian Potter, the day he would now spend in his bed was a Saturday. A day where students were free to spend their time as they wished it, some perhaps improving their academics, some improving their practicals, some seeking out companionship with others and some... well, some simply enjoying the day. His absence however had not gone unnoticed, as more than just one person was accustomed to seeing him up early in the morning, far earlier than most of them, and occupying the armchair near the fireplace while his familiar basked in the heat, even now with summer slowly encroaching on the horizon.

And she did ever so note his absence, her mind still occupied with the events from yesterday. She kept her interest private, as she always did, but mouths do like to run, even in Slytherin. Rumor after rumor went this and that-a-way, telling what might have happened for Potter to be deducted points and given detention, telling what might have happened to land the Dunderhead Quintet in the hospital, some of them bound for more than just a short visit. There were many guesses, some of them coming close to the truth, though truth was a precious commodity, one she was not willing to share with others. Fortunately for her, there were only a few witnesses in the classroom and it would take until Monday for word to filter down to Slytherin's common room about the confrontation between their second year and the Dunderheads.

She could almost feel the need to smile at the thought of how it would be received. Yes, they were aware of his conflict with Lenkin and the two boys, and though it was something of a surprise, it didn't impress them all too much. He did have, after all, the advantage of striking first and thus his spellwork could be easily waved off as a stroke of luck. Yes, they also knew of the Ravenclaws, but none of them had witnessed it, and second-hand retellings were always treated with suspicion and doubt. Having witnessed Potter's skill with the wand more than once, she had no doubts and after yesterday, well... suffice to say, that she could feel a change on the horizon. It thrilled her, this thing, this thing which started out so simple in the beginning, and look how it blossomed, only in the span of two school years. Their third year however might prove problematic.

Part of her worries was how little Potter knew about certain tradition and customs. Or perhaps he knew and feigned ignorance? It was a matter which she would uncover only by directly asking the boy herself, for no amount of prodding around would produce an answer to her query. She needed to know how much _he_ knew. It was most likely going to be a tiresome situation, one that would have to be resolved in privacy, sans the presence of the Baron and the Lovegood girl. Others didn't even factor into the equation, Hadrian Potter was far removed from the games they played, the circles and cliques they sought to form. In essence, he would be the one thing they would not see coming, yet would, _could,_ not be denied. None paid him much attention, though he did intrigue a few of the older female Slytherins, Daphne had noticed as much. It was most likely a flight of fancy, an interest in the current oddity in Slytherin. But if it was not... there would be measures and steps taken to prevent them from gaining any further interest, to disabuse them of the notion that they could lay a single finger on him.

It was quite troubling how often he occupied her mind, even when out of her sight. It was quite troubling how much she was willing to risk for the sake of one gamble, one risky gamble. It was a game and the price of failure would forfeit her future to someone else. That was something that would never be allowed by her, death would be preferable than..._ that._ Almost anything would be preferable to what they planned for her. Was it too much for her to interfere with another person's life in a way as she did? Perhaps. However, when it came down to the basic elements of it, only one thing remained unchanged. Choice. True, she had given him the book, but it was up to him how to use it, when to use it, what to use it for and if to use it at all. When his choice was made apparent, the steps taken along the path she needed him to take, there was only content and relief welling up in the confines of her analytical mind.

That did not prepare her for the spells he learned, for how fast he would absorb the knowledge given in exchange for the trades he had to make. In a way, he was similar to her, yet completely different; so distant from them all, gorging on knowledge for whatever purpose drove him to it, so distant from them all, he did not feign companionship as she did when it suited her needs. He gave none, offered none... until the Lovegood girl. She'd thought of removing the girl, somehow, from his presence, at first. Then she saw the changes wrought in that girl by Potter himself, saw how much he pushed himself further into the study of the book, saw how much he had changed in turn as well. That was a relief unto itself.

Then came the loss. Of both the girl and the ghost. This time, for this change, she had front row seats. And she was the only one who would know the change for what it was. Though he had reached the common room before her last night, he had still not emerged from the boy's dormitories, and noon had long since passed. She absently tapped the feather of her quill against her chin as the chattering of the girls surrounding her buzzed in the background, exchanging gossip and information of trivial importance, while her thoughts swirled with the possibilities of things to come.

* * *

When the next day had arrived, Hadrian found himself waking up to a familiar soreness, though less intense than it had been the day before. His nerves still felt prickly, as if he had been pierced with needless in every pore on his skin. The tiredness however was completely gone, and in fact had been replaced by an unfamiliar sense of vigor, the need to get up and do something. Anything at all, just so long as he did not stay put. It did take some time to get his bearings, to make sure he could stand on his feet and not fall down from a sudden bout of weakness in his legs. The soreness and ache persisted, but he stood. Perhaps his breathing was a bit labored, perhaps he did not move with the same swiftness as he usually could, though considering that he seemed to have overslept an entire day it was a minor thing.

His thoughts shifted from the observations of himself to Eagala, and a warm influx of emotions in the connection they shared flowed towards him. Turning around back to his bed he saw her and his subconscious worry dissipated, the serpent now making her way across the bed towards him, until it reached him and slithered her way up his arm, draping herself across his shoulders, her cool scales brushing against his skin, providing a bit of relief to the inflamed nerves. Then he noticed it. His magic. Not simply coiled around him, no, this was something more. Something that intermingled between three focuses in the room; Eagala, the Brown Book and himself. It was as if it was stretched between the three, divided enough to cover and encompass them within its protective embrace. There was a calmness to it now, something which seemed to have eluded him in the past few weeks, something which was beyond his reach just a day ago.

An imaginary murmur of content, of serenity, spread through the coiled magic, through his being, settling itself against him, withdrawn as it was now from Eagala and the Brown Book, though it had not lost the impression of his magic which it so greedily took the night before. After ten or so minutes of further pondering, he discarded all but his outer robes on the bed, leaving his wand in its holster behind, and went his way towards the showers, though not before opening his key-worded trunk and depositing the Brown Book inside for safe keeping. Eagala had not separated herself from him, not even when the almost scalding hot water struck against his skin, the glasses on his face refusing to fog up, protected as they were with charms, relieving the ache and soreness, to a certain degree, with its relentless assault. But there was a murmur of discomfort and scolding along the connection they shared, telling him that the next time he did something like this he would perhaps warn her so that she would not worry for his health, and it evoked a smile on his face, sending a few feelings of platitude and gratitude back to her. When he had cleansed himself of the sweat, dirt and smell that accumulated themselves on him, he left the showers, barefoot and water trailing behind him, a single towel draped around his lower body, his outer robes held across his arms, not paying any heed to some of the other students that he passed by, not caring that they saw him exposed, his scars for all to see.

The room now had been graced with the presence of his roommate and, most unusually so, the Davis and Greengrass girls along with a fourth presence. Parkinson. How odd indeed, the girl was usually seen in the presence of the Nott boy, when they ventured with Malfoy, when she tired of the usual two ticks that followed her around, from class to class. Yet she was now in his room. By the looks of things the four of them were comparing homework and talking about studies in general. Aside from a barely noticeable nod of greeting, and receiving several in return, for the group that occupied Zabini's bed and desk, he paid them no further heed and didn't approach them, his magic feeling unsettled for some reason or another. A chill had started settling in on him next, despite the approaching summer, the stone walls did ever so like to draw out any possible warmth that was not kept safe behind spells or cloth, and as it started seeping into his body, he popped open his trunk, looking for a new pair of trousers, underwear and shirt to wear. It didn't take long before the clothes were on, Eagala lying on the bed where he had retreated as well, behind closed curtains of course, for a moment or two while putting on new underwear. His still wet hair dripped down drops of moisture along his spine and on the floor, so he quickly retrieved his wand and spelled it dry, though it did nothing to contain its usual messiness. Perhaps next year it would be sufficiently long enough to be tied in a low knot, while the other errant strands on the front and sides could be simply tucked behind the ears. Next came the socks, the silver and green tie and finally the outer robes. With one look directed towards Eagala, she made her way towards him, settling in his lap, while he sat hidden behind the black-green curtains of his bed.

He then spelled his curtains immovable and silenced the world that laid outside, preventing sound from coming in or going out, isolating himself from any possible distraction. The sensation of his magic was vastly different when compared to what he felt before. It was not unpleasant nor was it uncomfortable. It was... distracting. Something kept infringing on the outer edge of his senses, the same senses that could feel the Brown Book, hidden away in the trunk, Eagala and his magic, coated as it was on the bed he currently occupied. There was a sense of trepidation brushing itself against his conscious mind, a part of him trying and failing to make him understand what the new _presences_ were. An unknown amount of time had passed before logic led him down the only path he could take, though he was oblivious to it at first. Only when he focused solely on the intruding waves of _something_ that laid outside could he discern what it might be.

Magic. Not his magic, no, this was a swirl, a mixture of several distinctive and unique sensations that shied away from one another, though to some outside beholder, such as him, it might be a trick played to show them as something combined rather than separate. His mind supplied the only explanation; _them._ Just barely, if everything else was excluded, if he forgot to breathe, to see, to hear, he could sense them. The four _others_ in the room. The four others which could be none other than his Housemates. it was a feeling unlike any other when his magic darted a tendril of itself, uncoiling, towards them, daring to _taste_, to sample their magic. It was also quite exhausting as his head exploded in a flicker of pain, bringing with it an ache behind his eyes and shortness of breath as his body tried to compensate for his absent attention. Pain brought him back, dragged him back to tend to his own needs, while his magic rested, settling back into him, as if it was retreating back through the tip of the wand he was unaware of holding in his grasp. The glimpses of what they _felt _like fled away, but the desire to test his reach, to test his limit did not fade, it merely obliged his neglected mind and body for the moment, allowing him to dissect and inspect on what he might want to do again.

The exertion came with its cost, as his rumbling stomach reminded him that he had failed to eat anything on the previous day with a pang of hunger. A few minutes later, maybe ten or twenty, he could not tell, he was collected enough and in full control of his facial expressions to leave the confines of his bed. When he removed the spells and parted curtains, he did not look upon the four, the only thing on his mind was a rather wholesome late breakfast or two. At the moment, he would not risk going up all the way to the Great Hall, when the kitchens were much nearer and would provide more privacy should it be needed. Once he had arrived, Tally had popped out of nowhere, greeting him and asking if he needed something. The smells enticed his taste buds and he ended up asking for a kidney and steak pie with pudding, some scouse and several pasties, which were devoured in a more rapid fashion than usual, showing how much he actually needed the sustenance. Eagala had commented on it while she herself had been occupied with several freshly dead white mice. After every plate had been wiped clean, and the pitcher of milk was empty, he thanked Tally for the exquisite food and left the kitchens, his thoughts now shifting onto Luna and the Baron.

It took him more than the usual amount of time to find his way up to the hospital wing, where the dormant forms of his friends, the word sounding so strange even in the privacy of his mind, laid. In his single-mindedness to reach the kitchens, he had forgotten to bring a book or two with him that he usually carried within his robe's pockets, shrunk down. The usual distraction he had entertained himself with when sitting between the two beds was not necessary, as he found out when he came closer to them. Again, the intrusion on his senses, but not the same as it was in the dormitory. This... this was something that he, that his magic, recognized, that flooded him with feelings of relief, content and... joy? He did not wish to expose himself, but his curiosity would not be denied. Again, he forsook breathing, hearing and seeing, the sterile hospital wing dissipating from his consciousness, for the sake of sensing something more. There was less exertion, less strain on his mind and body as a single tendril reached out and caressed against the still presences of the Baron and Luna.

What he felt when reaching out to the Baron was unique. At the same time, it was and wasn't magic. Not any magic in the sense he knew about it, though the presence of _something_ undeniable, a familiar coldness, unresponsive as it was, that provided comfort so many times in the last two years. The tendril did not linger any more on the coldness of the Baron, moving to the bed that hosted the petrified form of Luna Lovegood, laying itself against something so vastly different from what he felt just moments before. Where the Baron's presence was a coldness, here was tepidity, a lukewarmness that felt wrong, subdued and unnaturally still. Instinctively, the tendril tried coiling itself around it, trying to provoke it into a state of wakefulness. The otherness remained still, unmoved, unchanging, unliving... He ceased the effort when nothing happened, when no reaction could be coaxed, and brought back the tendril to the coils that surrounded him, melding it into his being, into his core, once more. When he opened his eyes and resumed breathing, there was no pain, no ache in his body or mind. So there he sat for the remainder of the day, well into the evening, before he was forced to leave by the Medi-Witch, unaware and uncaring of the few gazes that were cast his way by those that passed through the room.

* * *

Monday morning brought news and rumors. For reasons unsaid, the gameskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, had been aprehended by Ministry officials. It was not a long road to conjecture as to why this had happened, though whether the truth was among any of the words spoken was unclear. Then there was word of what had happened on Friday, between a Slytherin and the Boy-Who-Lived, who was by all accounts protecting his friends from the, as they so colorfully described it, _'cowardly attack from behind_ _that the slimy git sprung on them'_. Naturally, there was more than one side to the story, though one needn't have been a Ravenclaw to see which side would be trusted. Whether Neville Longbottom had spread the tale as such or whether it had been simply warped by the act of retelling, it didn't matter. At the end of the day, he was but a Slytherin and it's not like they could be trusted in these matters.

Surprisingly so, conflicts started occurring between the older Slytherins and other Houses in their respective years, as the taunting directed towards Slytherins kept on escalating throughout the day. Hadrian couldn't understand the motivation for why the older students would contest the claims of others from the rest of the Houses, and then face them off in a number of confrontations. By Monday mid-day, the hospital wing had its fill of passerbys. He himself had witnessed an unlikely duel between two sixth-years, Flint and Wood, in a hallway close to where they had Transfigurations for the day. It was an event witnessed by many, some faces etched with awe, some with worry, some with fear. In the end, both students had ended up for a brief spell in the hospital wing, a fact that the Medi-Witch didn't appreciate and had informed their Heads of Houses, leading to point deductions and the possibility of a temporary suspension from Quidditch. Some who had not witnessed the duel might have said the threat of being excluded from the sport was a bit too harsh, but they had not seen how many spells flew in that corridor, charring the wall, tearing the robes and more than just bruising the opponents. Even Hadrian's magic soared at the intensity of the exchange of spells.

When he had finally inquired, with Mellisa Moon, about why these conflicts were happening, she merely replied with _'Unlikely as it might seem to others, we take care of our own, no matter how distant __**some**__ might be'_ and gave a little smirk to him at the end. Of course, the answer was not given freely, it had cost him the true tale of what had happened, which he grudgingly delivered, and the smirk that she wore had transfigured itself into a rather predator-like smile before she departed. Once the classes were done with, he had decided to abscond from the common room where the gazes of many a student unsettled him by how focused they were upon his person. The hospital provided a safe haven, temporary as it was, for the remainder of the day, where he spent finishing up some homework that he had not dealt with during the weekend. The close proximity of the Baron and Luna provided a surprisingly comfortable atmosphere, even with being still as they were.

Unwillingly, he admitted to himself that the third sacrifice had done some good after all, despite the utterly miserable state he was in for the first two days. There was less pent up emotions, less drive to seek out conflict with others, even his magic had felt more serene, though by no means it meant that it was unwilling to stir itself to full attention when someone decided to try and jinx him when his back was turned. They thought with his return to verbal jabs and lashings that he had decided to abstain from using his wand and hexing them back with impunity. It was amusing to set up certain 'accidents', similar to those he had done in his first year, and watching them slowly put the pieces together before their heads turned his way and he in turn would offer them a soft smile, which was, no matter its gentle appearance, filled with implications and promises that would only bring more pain and humiliation.

At least they had broken off from Luna for the moment, and focused his attention solely on him, which was something he could deal with. Maybe it was because of all those years spent with the Dursleys that the intended injuries and insults sent his way upset him less than when they were sent at his friend. His very first friend. Even now, the school year's end only a week away and the Baron's and Luna's rousing from the unnatural slumber just two days from today, the thought of having a friend very much intrigued him. He had often watched and heard from others what was one supposed to do in a friendship, though truth be told he had no idea on how to go about it, how to approach Luna, once she was cured of her condition, for he had not said the words to her yet, his confession known only to Yvanna. When that worry was shunted to the side, a new one took its place, roaming through his mind as free as a bird might fly in open sky.

The new-found, or new-gained, sensitivity he had acquired had caused him some small amount of discomfort since the day of the Brown Book's final unlocking. As far as everyone else was concerned in the student body, whether they be Slytherin or other, he had felt their presences only as minor disturbances on the outermost edges of his senses, and he dared not risk a single tendril, errant or intentful, to prod around when it might end with him in the hospital wing, his weakness apparent for all to see. The problem however wasn't the student body. It was Hogwarts itself and its staff. While most of the teachers apparently subdued their presences, their magic, perhaps consciously, perhaps not, the Headmaster had no such inclinations or was completely unaware how intrusive his presence felt to other people's senses, how unbridled and disruptive it was even when just sitting in the Great Hall for the duration of one of the meals. Hadrian had reasoned that this new ability he had discovered was most likely not unique, and a large amount of research would be put into discovering everything there is to know about it, how he had gained it, could it be further trained and perfected and so on, when he moved back to the _"Night Bird"_, so it stood to logic and common sense that others had it as well, though most likely they were better trained to handle it. The only people whose presences didn't exhaust and tire him out when prodding were the Baron and Luna, and even for that he was unsure of why. Was it because of their petrified states? Was it because he had spent a fair amount of time around the two and thus got acclimated to whatever they might have felt like in his, then unknown and undiscovered, senses? Too many questions and not an answer in sight.

It was amusing when he had reminisced later on about how he omitted that the ancient castle that served as a school was a place where magic was cast, called into existence to intermingle with the mundane reality, in every waking and sleeping moment. At first he had believed that he sensed someone behind him, in front of him, around him at all times, until he realized that no person other than him roamed the abandoned hallways. Again, logic dictated that it could be only one thing; Hogwarts itself. After all, if the books are truly accurate, and not merely distorted retellings and embellishments, the school had stood on this spot for a thousand years, if not more, and had been founded by four of the most powerful and distinctive witches and wizards of that time. The building they had either constructed from scratch or merely re-purposed had been exposed to numerous and countless acts of magic, good, bad, the whole lot of it. Upon further inquiry and ventures into the library he had discovered that there was a reason why Hogwarts stood on this spot, as the natural energies of the land had provided an influx of its own brand of magic... its own magic, which made sense, since many times had Hogwarts been described in the books as a bulwark against enemy forces who wished to tear down the school to the ground or conquer it. His inquiry had come to an abrupt end when it started breaching out into what kind of magic had encompassed Hogwarts and its grounds, the books that would tell him of such things were unavailable for the student body, having been deemed too vulnerable to exterior influences that might be simply passing through the school and could whisk them away for whatever need they had of them. Or so the combined stern and somewhat scolding faces of Madam Pince and Professor McGonagall had told him when he asked.

McGonagall. It was so easy to see that the elderly witch now outright disliked him, the way her brow furrowed when seeing him in her class, or passing him by in the hallways, and especially when the scowls started adorning her face once 'accidents' started happening in her classes to her precious Gryffindors, which was a work of art to set it all up if one were to ask Hadrian himself, always trying to coax some kind of admittance of guilt from his with her gazes, though he would offer up either meek smiles that he did not truly feel or false neutrality, which he most definitely didn't even consider expressing anymore. His voice had retained some modicum of politeness when addressing her, his heart however had started deepening a pool of pure venom and loathing for the woman, ever since she spoke those words. How dare she? How dare she say what his mother might have felt? How dare she pretend to have intimate knowledge about the woman that gave him life, that most likely gave her own life for his, and then use it to scold him when her _cubs_ were the ones that kept provoking and taunting? Did they think to escape without being reprimanded, without paying for the words they spoke so heedlessly? His magic might have been calmer now, in comparison to how raw it felt when Luna had first been petrified, yet his desire had not lessened to see the witch humiliated for what she spoke to him, and in front of others at that. True, only a few others had witnessed it, and none of them knew, not even an inkling, how much the words might have hurt him. He was no fool however, he could not best the witch, she had experience and skill over him. For power, he could not be sure, perhaps for the moment, for the duration of his school years, she would hold the advantage of more power than him, but anything could change in the remaining five years at Hogwarts. One way or another, she would regret those words that she spat out so carelessly.

The musing on these thoughts did him no good and only served to stirr his magic to wakefulness, the raw sensation of uncoiling gradually rising throughout his being until he felt too much of it was pent up, leading him to wander down the hallways devoid of others and enter an abandoned classroom, preventing sound from escaping with his wand and then letting loose. It felt good. It felt more than good, even if it was just wood and metal he was breaking in those dusty classroom with his spells. The venting would last no less than fifteen minutes, no more than an hour, before he would seek to repair as much damage as he could with a simple _Reparo,_ and then depart the empty and ravaged classroom with a whispered _'Sorry'_ to Hogwarts, as if the castle could hear him.

It was after one of these forays into the castle that he witnessed a most unusual sight, which, he had to admit, had given him an odd amount of glee. Several rather official looking men escorted a rather tall wizard, a nobleman of sorts no doubt, towards the Headmaster's office. He did not see much of the man that was escorted there, other than how extravagantly elegant and expensive his robes appeared, a cane in one of his hands that went _tap, tap, tap_ on the stone floor, and his basic physicial features, such as his rather long and silky blonde looking hair with high cheekbones adorning his face, along with a smile that simply screamed 'apex-predator'. He had stopped there abruptly, in one of the many alcoves that littered the corridor, musing in thought at what this might be about, when the gargoyle that had only barely five minutes ago closed behind the group moved to the side and let loose the entourage back out again, this time with a new addition. The Headmaster himself had been behind the group, almost like he was a prisoner to be hauled off by them, and the tall blonde man's smile had shifted into one of superiority, a smile of triumph over one's enemies.

That was not to last, as it seemed. Suddenly a sound of clanking was heard, as some metal kept striking the ground, and rapid footsteps, running no doubt, joined the fray. Hadrian had by now retreated fully into one of the alcoves, feeling that his presence here would not be a welcome one if discovered, though he doubted he would escape their notice once they came close to his position. He needn't have feared that as a suddenly very disheveled, filthy and rather bloodied looking Longbottom rushed past the alcove he was hiding in, a sword in one of his hands, while the other simply hanged there by his sides, an odd looking book held in it, and judging by the appearance it was completely ruined. Now voices were raised in cacophony and not much could be gathered from what had happened as more than just two or three voices overlapped across one another. In the midst of this random bout of chaos, they had decided to retreat back to the Headmaster's office for whatever that might have been about. Maybe Longbottom had gone off and done something wretchedly stupid which would guarantee him expulsion? Hadrian could only smile at how nice the school might be without the irksome presence of the pig-in-a-wig.

* * *

His hope was not to last. Longbottom had not been expelled, he had in fact been awarded a medal, a recognition, for special services that he had supposedly done for the school. This was all brought up during dinner-time, which Hadrian had planned on spending only just a small bit in the Great Hall, but the Headmaster's rising from the staff table interrupted that train of thoughts and sat him down as firmly as if he had been jinxed with an _Immobulus_. Apparently, the culprit, the threat of further petrifications, was caught and dealt with. All by their resident Boy-Who-Lived, with the help of his friends. All five of the Dunderheads had received the medals, the recognitions, a fact that disgusted Hadrian and all of his fellow Slytherins. The Headmaster didn't deem it fit to explain to them how the petrifications happened or who was responsible, only his word that it was finished. Many had rejoiced, and truth be told more than just a few Slytherins started breathing more easily, since tensions between their House and others would just fall back to the usual level it was maintained.

Aside from the mild irritation at what had happened and how it was unveiled for the rest of the school, there was a vague suspicion that at the last feast of the year there would be a repetition of last year's events, where Gryffindor would undoubtedly be awarded a ludicrous amount of points for something that none of them could know, despite that the probability that many rules had been broken in the process. Still, it might, it might not happen. It wasn't the points system itself that occupied Hadrian's mind, but rather the bias that the staff been showing, in the first year it had been somewhat negligeble, and after all Professor Snape did have a bias for Slytherins, though not to a point where he would allow sloppy work in his classes to be deemed as acceptable. Crabbe and Goyle had been rather infamous for spending most of the year in remedial Potions due to their ineptitude with basic brewing, and most likely they would be the only two in their year, if not the entire House, who would get Acceptable as grades. Well, except Longbottom, he'd most likely be receiving another Dreadful, the same as last year, as there was yet to be a single potion brewed by him that did not end up in maiming himself or damaging the property of the school.

Further ponderings about the idiocy of the Golden Dunderhead had been shunted to the side and Hadrian's mind focused on where he would be going after the double block of Potions today. The hospital. Today the mandrake solution would be finally ready and the victims would be freed from their petrified states. Not that he cared for the feline menace that would once more stalk the corridors or the muggleborn Gryffindor. Terrible though it may have been, but the notion of feeling compassion for a Gryffindor had been effectively put out and cut in the stem this school year. No, his thoughts focused solely on the Baron and Luna, none other mattered and it was the first time that he had wished for the Potions to go by faster. Once the class had passed half its mark, he had dipped the vial from his desk into the cauldron, filling it with the bright green concoction that had settled some time ago from bubbling, the fire beneath the container now fully extinguished. It was the Shrinking Solution, a potion that was only planned for next year's syllabus, but which Professor Snape had allowed him, and a few others, to brew due to his skill in the class. It seemed that the Professor either knew that he wanted to leave class early or that there was simply no point in keeping him around when his work was done, so he dismissed him, giving him a slip of paper with permission to be outside of class should someone come upon him. He thanked the Potions Master, showing one of his genuine smiles and politeness lacing his words, and then made his way back to his desk, carefully cleaning it from spare ingredients, returning them back to their containers in the supply cupboard. Once he was sure that everything was cleaned out, he once more said his goodbyes to the Professor and left the room.

The permission slip proved useful as he had come across Filch, McGonagall and Sprout on his way to the hospital, the latter two actually heading the same way as he was, towards the hospital wing. He'd noticed in Sprout's hands a small wooden appliance, holding the Mandrake Restorative Draughts within the hollow spaces they were designed with, keeping them firm and in place. When he finally did arrive at the bedsides of Luna and the Baron, time seemed to slow down and he wondered whether Professor Sprout had perhaps taken some weird detour or if she'd been intercepted by someone on the way. The latter seemed to be true, as now the Headmaster had joined in the small group as well, McGonagall and Sprout entering along-side him. The gaze of McGonagall lingered only shortly on him before she moved on to the bed where the Gryffindor victim of petrification must have laid all this time. How odd, he had not noticed the boy before at all, but to be fair, he never came here looking for anyone else but the two by whose sides he now sat and tried to supress all visible signs of anxiety on his body. The Headmaster's presence didn't help either, as it was most distasteful how uncontrolled his magic was, overspilling everywhere, so to speak.

The first to be cured was the Gryffindor, for which Hadrian nearly scoffed, and then the bloody cat. A cat apparently ranked higher and more important to the staff at Hogwarts than a student of Rowena's House. Eagala's words, _feelings,_ of derision towards the cat-animagus Professor nearly brought a grin onto his face. Then she was there, Professor Sprout with two of the vials of the restorative draught. She gave him a quizzical look as if trying to nonverbally assess whether his presence here might disrupt her. The Professor's meandering about didn't sit well with Hadrian, so he approached the homely looking witch and took one of the draughts away from her, not bothering to tell her that he had studied the damn things himself and that he knew how to apply those to petrified victims. Well, at least Luna, that is. It was very doubtful that the same method, of pouring the contents of the vial slowly into someone's mouth and massaging their throat, could exactly work on the silvery shade. Even though it was strictly for medicinal purpose, for a moment he froze, unsure on how Luna might react when she awoke and his hands were on her throat. Stifling that one fleeting flicker of indecision, he carefully angled the vial across Luna's pale lips, emptying it, drop by drop by drop, until everything was gone. His pale hands settled across Luna's alabaster skin on the throat and started working their own brand of magic for some unmeasured time. Slowly, ever so slowly, the blue hues returned to those grey eyes of Luna Lovegood, the lips started trembling as motion once interrupted now continued as if it had never been stopped in the first place. Her alabaster complexion gained some lifelines to it, just the barest tinge of color to suggest circulation had resumed and that the body's inner workings were once more in full motion. He didn't look as he heard the noise behind him, signifying the return of the silvery shade that had served as a mentor, that had served as a guide, that had become a friend of a sort, for it was then that Luna gained full consciousness, words once unformed now spoken a bit hoarsely and he did not dare restrain himself any more, engulfing the smaller witch in an embrace.

* * *

Luna Lovegood was a very confused witch at the moment. The last memory, the last sight she witnessed was a single, impossibly so, huge eye, so bright and so yellow in its coloration, even when viewed through the shade-presence of the Bloody Baron. Obviously, something had happened then as that is when the memory ended, where the mind stopped observing everything around her. Yet now, when the mind continued its observation, the first thing of importance it noted was the warm and bone-straining embrace of Hadrian Potter, his thin arms wrapped around her and words being murmured in her ear. It took her a while before the words started making sense, or before she started properly hearing and understanding them, but when she did, a smile filled with all the warmth and kindness that she could muster had graced the ethereal face of one Luna Lovegood. The words would stay with her for a long time and later on when she was explained what had happened to her, she would deem it a good thing, for without it, she might have never heard the words, never heard the truth that would not be denied.

_'You're my friend, and you're not allowed to leave me like that ever again.'_


	13. Chapter 13

Looks were given and stolen their way as they headed towards the kitchens, wanting to avoid the crowd that would most definitely be infesting the Great Hall, and the Bloody Baron's presence helped to deter any who might have wanted to approach. Once there, Tally and several other House Elves had been more than glad to serve up some delicacies for Luna's stomach, which for the moment couldn't suffer under the regular cuisine, what with it being a bit on the heavy side. Like Hadrian, she enjoyed puddings, though hers were sweet ones, while he cheerfully made short work of a portion of black pudding. The Baron had chosen to opt out of this short tenure in the kitchens, and had left them to eat in peace while he went off to reintroduce order and peace to a Peeves-infested castle, as he so aptly put it.

Hadrian had then told Luna about the things that had happened during her extended stay in the infirmary, causing her to burst into fits of giggles after retelling about certain 'accidents' thad had happened in classes that he just coincidentally shared with Gryffindors. Of course, some of the teachers saw fit to accuse or suspect him, unjustly and unfoundedly so, for taking part in these. After all, how he could have picked out all those faulty ingredients for the vict- students? It wasn't his fault they couldn't discern what was obviously very rotten flobberworm or just white rock and not serpent fangs, was it? It wasn't his fault that they ended up in the hospital wing due to some minor damages to themselves. It wasn't his fault that in Transfiguration their inanimate objects, transfigured as they were from living subjects, grew teeth and started biting at those who pointed their wands at them, right? Simple panic response, the students shrieked and provided ample targets for the rather viciously disposed and animate objects.

It was good to hear Luna laugh, and in turn the sound made a smile break out on Hadrian's face. After the meal and small talk had been finished, she had then mentioned about catching up to missed out lessons, and for the briefest moment there was sadness in those pale blue eyes of hers at the unvoiced concern that none of her Housemates would help her. Unconsciously, a tendril uncoiled itself, seeking out to comfort, to soothe the worry in the other presence. There was no exasperation, no gasps of pain, no need to stop himself from hearing, seeing and breathing, it was but the barest of touches. When later he would look upon this moment, he would have to say that the magic he felt from Luna was very much like it was when she was still petrified. Except there was a sense of fragility, as if it was pure porcelain that would crack at the lightest touch, and the only touch he could provide was moving over to her side, and placing one of her hands in his and squeezing it, the tendril now back within the coils and the coils themselves expanding over the two of them, to put them in an unseen embrace. He couldn't help but smile when the younger witch placed her head on his shoulder, bony and uncomfortable as it was, sighing with what must have been an expression of content.

"You don't have to do this for me," her voice carried the dreamy sing-song qualities to it as she spoke, and he turned his head towards her in confusion.

"Do what?"

"Comfort me like that."

It took a few moments before Hadrian replied, his voice relaying his uncertainty at how this intrusion might be perceived as, "You can feel it?"

"Yes," Luna said, "I can see it too. It is rather pleasant to look at, the form suits you."

What followed was a mild interrogation session from Hadrian, which Luna thoroughly enjoyed. As it turned out, she was always able to see these things, though never for a large duration of time. When she had first seen him, passing him by in corridors, there was nothing about his presence, no serpentine pattern, no coils of magic, no nothing. She told him about the pools of lights she sometimes saw around other students, how they swirled and tried to focus, but mostly stayed unformed. Luna couldn't always control her gift, occasionally she would accidentally start _seeing_ and the pressure from it would flood her head with pain, leaving her weak and sometimes even bed-ridden. Bed-ridden so much that bed-sores might form, sickly and unmoving for days even. It was weakness that she exposed to him now, ever that far-away look in her eyes, ever the dreamlands in her voice, something he was unsure of how to deal with when it came to others, when it came to someone that he cared for. Unknown to him, the thought made his hand squeeze a bit too hard on Luna's, but she paid it no heed, for she could very well guess what it was provoked with.

Unsure of how to properly reciprocate, he asked her to come with him, away from the kitchens, away from the people-infested hallways of Hogwarts. There, after taking paths not walked by others, in one of the many, many classrooms that might never see a student or teacher, in a official capacity, ever again, he revealed his own kind of weakness. When he would abandon the world around him, to sense something more. Slowly, ever so slowly, a tendril unwrapped itself from the coils, stretching out across an imaginary blackness, reaching out to the familiar warmth that was Luna's. Unlike before, this was more intimate, more pervasive, the feeling, the sampling, the tasting of magic... it was a thirst within him, to sample the warmth and keep it close by, to keep it close to his heart of hearts, to keep it hidden within his being, to hide it within his core. Only with a great amount of effort did he disentangle the tendril away from the warmth, the void it crossed back all the more chilling for its lack of presence.

Pain flared, and the light, dim as it was, hurt his eyes, bright malachites retreating into the shallow safety of the darkness behind eyelids. Hands found themselves covering his face, hands not his own. Eventually, the pain subsided, allowing him to open his eyes, the hands now removed, and see Luna. Smiling. It was a smile which infected the very air with warmth, for whatever reason it may have been there. He did not have to wait long before an explanation for the smile presented itself, as the young witch then tenderly wrapped her arms around him and spoke clearly the words of gratitude for allowing her to see a part of him that not many would.

* * *

Before the school year had come to a close, just three days before the students departed from Hogwarts, having already been given their summer assignments. a curse had come to collect its due. Albus Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief in the privacy of his office, for surely this was one of the most benign ways of getting rid of a person from that teaching post. The Ministry had apparently been prompted by an unnamed source to investigate the veracity of Gilderoy Lockhart's claims, since the man had made quite a large profit with his books, and it is with these books that he 'earned' the position at Hogwarts and adulation of many a young, and middle-aged, witch. How little they must have thought of him to think he wouldn't have known what kind of a man he was hiring for the year's duration. Still, if there was a gentler way of letting go off the incompetent man, Albus couldn't think of one, and it was best that it be done like this, at the Ministry's behest, rather than him drawing attention upon himself and the school.

He'd been informed a few days prior that an investigation team, or rather arrest team as they were unofficially to be addressed as, was going to visit Hogwarts today, fully prepared to first test Lockhart's claims and then detain him when they were proven false. They had even been authorized to bring Veritaserum, that precious and quite expensive to make substance, so that everything would go down by the book. Dumbledore was brought out of his musing by the wards set up around the Gargoyle that guarded the entrance to his office, alerting him that Minerva had arrived, right on schedule. Not wanting to waste much time, Albus rose up from his desk and awaited his trusted friend to enter into the office, being one of the few who were afforded the privilege of entering without knocking.

"Minerva," he greeted the witch with a slight inclination of his head.

"Albus," she responded in kind, "Shall we go meet the Ministry at the gates?"

Dumbledore just waved it off, "There will be no need for that, I have already granted them entry and they're only slightly behind you, so let us go outside and meet them in front of my office, shall we? It will save us some time."

"Hmm, quite," McGonagall said and turned to walk side by side with the Headmaster to the outside of the office, "Albus, do you think he will come calmly or are you expecting any sort of problems from him?"

"None whatsoever. The man may be many things, but he is not dangerous, though the Ministry almost treated this case as if he were a Dark wizard. It took a bit of persuasion on my part to talk them into sending someone other than the Aurors."

Minerva scoffed at that, as if Lockhart warranted so much caution on their behalf. They waited only minutes before the Ministry team sent from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement appeared. It consisted of three wizards, their attires showing off their respective positions, and on them their status as officers of the DMLE. Polite greetings were exchanged before the group made their way towards where Lockhart was at the moment, holding one of the classes to some first years.

They waited until the classroom emptied and all the children left the hallway, just in case something happened, before they entered the classroom. Lockhart hadn't noticed them at first, being too engrossed into whatever the stack of papers was on his desk, fan letters no doubt or some-such nonsense, but with one subtle cough-like gesture from the Headmaster he quickly became aware, and schooled his panicked face into one of those smiles of his, teeth flashing and all that.

"Why, Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, how can I be of assistance to you?" his voice conveyed a sense of ease he was most definitely not feeling, having spotted the Ministry officials behind the two staff members of Hogwarts.

"A small matter has come up, Gilderoy," Dumbledore spoke calmly, "And the Ministry would like to ask you a few questions, if you would?" he gestured towards the desk and chairs sitting about

There was a moment of hesitation before he replied, "But of course, Headmaster, though I think it might be better if we relocated to my office, just in case a student comes back here to ask for a help with a question or two, so we don't get interrupted."

The proposal seemed harmless and even the Ministry-sent wizards agreed to it, since it was apparent the man wanted to avoid the shaming that would inevitably occur once they got the truth out of him. It didn't take them long before they went their way, in one of the less-tread hallways, it didn't take long at all before it happened. The response from one of the Ministry wizards was a sigh and the following words.

"They always run."

What followed was a brief chase, where the three pursued quickly after the fraudulent teacher, and Dumbledore and McGonagall walked as fast as they could in their official school robes, which impeded their pace. Once they heard a rather vocal exchange between Lockhart and one of the other wizards, they grew concerned, and then they reached the scene themselves. Three of the wizards had their wands trained on Lockhart, who had somehow found a student and was holding the poor girl in his embrace while her face panicked and whatever she tried to shout out was muffled by the older man's hand across her mouth. It took a moment for Minerva to recognize the student that Lockhart had grabbed and when she did, her worry and unease intensified. Luna Lovegood. And where she wandered, Potter was not far behind, if not directly by her side.

There he was, slumped down on the floor behind them, near one of the walls, a cut, of unknown severity, on his forehead, the ebony strands of his hair dipped in the shallow pool of blood that was forming on the floor as his face was pressed into the cold stone. Lockhart was truly despicable, and McGonagall pursed her lips, pressing them quite fiercely against each other, with her wand now joining the fray and aiming at the sandy-colored ponce of a man.

"Now, now, gentlemen, we wouldn't want this getting out of hand, would we?" Lockhart said in that despicable voice of his, as if still trying to maintain the illusion of how charming and sweet he was, while his wand pressed into the girl's head, whose eyes and head kept trying to dart towards the fallen form of her friend that laid behind them, "We wouldn't want something to happen to the poor girl, just imagine how bad it would look for the school?"

None of them moved, none of them dared to move, not knowing what kind of spell he would unleash upon the first-year, what kind of a curse it might be. The Ministry wizards communicated non-verbally amongst themselves with only slight nods and facial cues as to how to progress in a situation such as this. Dumbledore's mind whirled and twisted, and tried to make sense of this, tried to see a peaceful way out of the situation, before a student got hurt or other students stumbled upon them.

"Gilderoy," he started calmly, "I would appreciate you letting Ms. Lovegood go, it would look better for you later on in court. I could even possibly help you in achieving a lesser sentence that they might be inclined to give you should the girl come to harm."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Headmaster. I would rather you all put your wands down on the floor and allow me to perform a few simple spells on you, and I assure you the girl would be let go after this short, but painless, tribulation."

Dumbledore only shook his head, in sadness at the way the man was behaving, "Would those be the same spells you performed on the people who had done the things you claim credit for?"

Lockhart at that only preened, like a peacock might, "Ah, found out my little secret, have you? I tell you, what good is saving a village from a nasty group of Yetis if you're just gonna sit on the tale and not profit anything from it? And let's face it, I look far better on the cover of a book than some old, wrinkle-faced and quite frankly repugnant Tibetan wizard. After all, one does not simply win both the Witch Weekly and the Teen Witch Weekly's Brightest and Charming Smile award five times in a row for nothing, you know?" the tone of his words indicated a madness of sorts, a most grand delusion of grandeur.

In his prancing and the hesitation of others, no one had noticed the approaching presence until they heard the gaudy peacock that masqueraded as a wizard scream. Instantly, they all took notice as his hand slipped from the girl's mouth, allowing her to scream out _'Eagala!'_, as he clamped down onto the back of his thigh and wrenched something away from it, throwing it viciously at the nearby wall in front of him, while still holding the girl by the neck with the other hand and his wand pointed at an odd angle at her jaw. Once the form had fallen down, they saw a serpent, a fairly large one, now recuperating from the rough-handling, coiling up unto herself, before rising in the air with the upper portion of her body, her neck area flaring and her mouth opened, hissing, displaying many sharp fangs inside as well as the two main ones, standing out among them by the virtue of their size and the venom that even now dripped from them. The eyes then refocused back onto Lockhart, who had in that one instant of their observation cast a small healing spell on him, but insufficient to purge the magically imbibed venom that the boomslang pushed into him with her fangs and that now coursed through his veins. His hand had gone back around to holding the girl against his lower body, and the wand back at the same old position, placed against the side of her head.

"Hah! T-thought you'd get one on me, did you? W-well done, Headmaster, well done, but I'm afraid I'm far t-too clever for you," the man started displaying small tremors in his body, barely noticeable at first, but mostly seen due to his wand and the hand that held it were trembling, "Now, your wands on the floor. Quickly, quickly!" he tried to command.

Before any of them could acquiesce to the demand, or start to consider what to do next, a burst of magic struck Lockhart from behind, felling him down, the girl slipping away from his grasp, her gaze joining the others, even as a scream was let loose from Lockhart's limp body on the floor, eclipsing the last one in its intensity. There he stood, the blood still dripping from his forehead, covering a part of his face with crimson trails of it, the wet strands of hair clinging to his skin as if he had went through a marathon of physical exertion, his eyes so vibrant, so clear and focused now that the glasses and their frame no longer obscured them. His visage was wraith-like, with his pale complexion and gaunt face, similar, in ways none could ever conceive of before, to the silvery-shade that usually accompanied the boy. So piercing with malice in them, his eyes, with the pools of pure venom that were their coloration. Another burst. And another. Bursts of diseased-yellow magic and blood-red spells bounding out from the boy's chest, from his very being, from his core, and striking at the enemy. All striking in repetition, in the span of a single second, at the already defeated and broken body of Gilderoy Lockhart.

The screams had become so intense that one of the Ministry wizards sent a _Stupefy_ in Lockhart's direction, and another of them praised whatever gods might be listening that the screaming had stopped. Dumbledore recovered first, though that didn't bode much for his mental state. Next thing his mind took notice was of the serpent that now made its way towards the boy, as he slumped down to the floor, greeting it hard with his knees, and a gasp of pain escaped his lips. The serpent, the boy's familiar, slithered her way up and draped itself against his shoulders, nuzzling and flicking her tongue at his face, a fact which he barely took notice of as one of his hands tried and failed to rise up and brush against the familiar cold scales.

Next came the girl, flinging herself across the small distance and embracing the young Slytherin, concern and gratitude intermingled in her body and facial gestures. The boy listened as intently as he could to some words she spoke before unconsciousness claimed him, his limp body now supported by the girl's valiant efforts to keep her friend from hitting the floor again. The Ministry wizards helped, securing Lockhart, casting some advanced healing spells to stop the bleeding from a cut they failed to notice a moment before, a cut so wide and deep tore through the clothes that the man wore, but now it stood there in plain sight, a spring of blood flowing forth, and then one of them separating the girl from her friend, telling her he was going to help him, that he was going to carry him to the hospital. After a moment of hesitation, the girl parted from her friend and the serpent settled now on her shoulders, allowing the wizard to cast a spell at the boy without fear of possible repercussion from the reptile. A brief consultation was had with the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, asking whether there was a way to reach the hospital without the other students noticing, since levitating a child through the throng of students and a body-bound teacher would only incite panic and fear. Dumbledore merely instructed Minerva to guide them through one of the many hidden, and only known to the staff, passageways that would put them just one corridor away from Poppy's domain. So they went off, leaving him along with the Lovegood girl in the now empty hallway, which still held some marks of what had happened mere minutes ago, along with the pool of blood from the boy's cut. With a mental gesture sent towards the castle from the Headmaster, Elves quickly appeared and started cleaning up the mess, as well as giving the Headmaster Lockhart's wand, which had been discarded from his hand when the first spell struck him from behind.

"Will he be alright?" asked the not so serene voice of Luna, tremors easily noticeable in every word she spoke.

Albus sighed, knowing the girl was asking about her friend, rather than the man that kept her hostage and got cursed, most viciously so, for it, and turned to face the girl, "He will be alright, Ms. Lovegood. Mr. Potter had just performed a serious bout of accidental magic, I believe, and it has exhausted his core, thus leaving him unconscious. A day's rest, perhaps a potion or two, will suffice to help him recover."

She only nodded, affirming the words were heard, but her arms wrapped around herself, trying, in vain, to stop the tremors that threatened to overwhelm her now. Ironically, it was not the human warmth of the Headmaster's hand that took one of hers in it that brought her away from the brink of collapsing, from shock, but the cold, dark-green scales that brushed against the back of her neck and the comfort that the serpent provided merely by nudging her in the cheek with her head. Still, she held onto the old man's hand as he took her away from the scene, took her via passageways where they would not encounter others, who might rupture the fragile calm that the girl had forced onto herself for the moment.

* * *

Finally, the last day of the school year had arrived. The leaving feast was well under way, the Great Hall decorated in a familiar silver and green pattern, the banners proudly displaying animated hissing serpents. Hadrian's worry had been for naught, for no last minute points-addition had happened, and Slytherin once more was in possession of both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup, thus putting his Housemates in a good mood, smiles more evident on their faces than they have been for the whole year. Looking in Luna's direction, he saw that she was one of the very few, outside his House, that had congratulated them earnestly with her applause, the rest of the Ravenclaws were mostly their usual collected and calm selves. Though as his gaze swept across the Ravenclaw table, he noted there were more than just one venomous looks thrown his way, most likely the students with which he had ended up dueling with. and sending off to the hospital. Maybe some of them might try to find him on the train-ride back to London? It would provide some amusement at least, and Hadrian was always willing to oblige, that and the chance to show Luna how pitiful some of her Housemates were.

Thankfully, not all of them were completely bad. He had found a girl in Luna's year, Morag MacDougal, and had bargained with her for Ravenclaw-related classwork, notes and essays in exchange for his help with Potions. Next school year, he would spend the first part of it tutoring MacDougal since Potions were her only weakness in the entire Hogwarts curriculum, something about fumes apparently made her anxious and often ended up with her adding the wrong ingredient, thus resulting in foul-ups, though nothing on the scale of that which Longbottom did. Maybe the Hat does make mistakes, occasionally, because the little raven negotiated her price with more skill than one would expect from Rowena's House.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a rather loud cheer, and once he refocused on what the old fool at the staff table was speaking about, he understood the meaning for it. Lockhart. It would seem that the curse on the position was quite genuine, as the blumbering buffoon was disposed of, so Hadrian's Housemates spoke near him, and at the moment was enjoying the hospitality of St. Mungo's. Naturally, the Headmaster didn't elaborate why the former staff member was in St. Mungo, and it was most likely he would just show one of his grandfather-masks to the students, as if that would somehow quell their curiosities. His caution and reason for not telling were quite simple, Dumbledore didn't wish to alarm students about what kind of a fraud they had for a teacher and how he nearly irreparably damaged a student's mind, had he not been dealt with in time. Hadrian flashed a brief meaningful look in the old man's vague direction, and sure enough the twinkle in those blasted blue eyes had dimmed down when it came across him.

* * *

As if it was his fault they didn't properly stun and body-bind the man on the spot, instead they just told him all straight to his face, told him that the Ministry would want some questions answered. They apparently expected him to come calmly with them. Idiots. Fools. The chief idiot then decided that would be the appropriate time to try and run away, though his unfortunate departure was cut short when he happened across them. Hadrian hadn't seen him at all, that's how sudden his appearance was, before he felt something grabbing him and flinging him out of the way, before he lost consciousness for the first time.

A sharp pain had awakened him, a pain that reached his very soul. His vision was blurry, unfocused and crimson. It was enough. More than enough, as he extended tendrils, supplanting his lack of eyesight with the perception that magic would provide, in this moment of panic to sense what was going on. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. _Hate_. Unending hate spilled and over-spilled out of him once he realized that Eagala had been hurt, that Luna had been in the grasp of that idiot Lockhart, who kept hurting her with his grip, who kept trying to threaten the rest with the potential damage he could do to her if they do not lower their wands. It was pure hate, undiluted malice, spite, disgust, every single negative emotion he could feel that finally leapt out of that place in his heart. No words, no wand, only intent. It hurt so much, so much of him felt instantly strained when the spell left him, when that curse struck its mark. It wasn't enough. His scream wasn't enough. More punishment, _'More!'_ his heart commanded and his core obliged. Another. And another. _'Rip, tear him apart, spill his blood!'_ it screamed within him as the curses flew out, leaving him so battered, so sore, so bruised on the inside. The screaming had stopped. Eagala's tongue on his cheek. Luna's embrace and indistinct words. Then nothing.

He should have waited for the adults to resolve matters, McGonagall said, her face in its most sternest form, her lips pressing so tightly against one another, and the words dripping with her native accent. That was the first sight that he saw in the hospital wing when later he awoke amongst the bedsheets, disrobed, his glasses back on his face. Snape stood by the sides, silent, his eyes, however, glimmered with barely concealed pride and concern. He did not bother restraining his facial expressions, flashing McGonagall a brief glance of annoyance, they were of little consequence as Luna appeared out of nowhere, pulling him into another embrace which he greedily took, Eagala settling down in his lap, his body too weak to produce the tremors that accompanied acts of physical affection to which he was still getting accustomed to.

The words continued in the background. Buzzing. Why should he care that the fool had every bone in his arms broken, shattered, ground into dust and that his chest would forever wear the scar to remind him of the curse that opened it up and a well of blood spilled over? That he suffered so much that they had to stun him into unconsciousness? A rather small price for the affront he committed. He should have suffered _more_. Even while embracing Luna, his magic still danced about, wanting to lash out more at the pitiful excuse of a wizard that laid just a few beds away from him, even in its weakened state it wanted to protect, to punish. Only Luna's gentle touch, her hand in his, pushed the hate to the side, before he reacted to the fool's presence with more than just involuntary facial expressions.

In the end, the Headmaster, in his bright-colored and eye-repulsive robes, had joined in the front of his bed with McGonagall, telling him that while protecting a friend was commendable, such a way was the wrong way to go about it. Some nonsense about avoiding using negative emotions, about how they needed to have a talk. He dismissed everyone from the room, the Ministry wizards, McGonagall, Luna, even Madam Pomfrey herself.

The elderly wizard sat down on Hadrian's bed, causing Eagala to let out a short threatening hiss at the man, before she went further up his body and coiled itself around his chest, her head facing the Headmaster, glaring menacingly, waiting for the slightest provocation, if he would give her one. Instead, he spoke.

"What you did today was very dangerous," it was spoken quite calmly, but in a grave, a solemn tone, "As I already said, it's more than commendable that you would wish to protect, to save your friend. But it was the wrong way to go about it, my boy," Hadrian couldn't muster enough strength to tell the man off for the 'endearing' way he tried to address him, "It is a road, fraught with many pitfalls, many dead-ends and many dangers for a young mind such as yours. Yet it is quite alluring, is it not?" Dumbledore paused here, exhaling quite long and quite loudly, "To have that kind of thing, that kind of power, at your fingertips, to do whatever it takes. That is a lie, my dear boy, an illusion meant to lure you in and trap you until you're no longer even a shadow of yourself. You are young, and thus are pliable enough to make these mistakes, but I trust that you will learn from this day. That magic has a cost, and that the magic you have performed today, accidental as it was, was not worth the cost it extracted from you. It has left you weak, debilitated for the day, unable to continue doing what you set out to do when you used it; protect your friend," another interlude, interrupted only by the laboured breathing and near-silent flicks of a serpent-tongue, tasting the air, before he continued speaking "Ah, Harry, it must sound like a sermon, and I like a minister of one of those quaint muggle religions," he closed his eyes at that point, taking off his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his eyes with his fingers before placing the glasses back on and opening his eyes, "Forgive an old man, so set in his ways. I will allow you to rest now, I'm quite sure Poppy will tell me the dangers of keeping a young boy like yourself still up after such a strain."

Buzzing. All of it buzzing. As if he cared for such things, the old fool's sensitivity, so long as it provided the means to survive and to protect those he cared for. Was he weak after today's exertion? Then he would need to grow stronger, that was all to it. He already knew that everything in life came with a cost, he'd learned that lesson rather early on, earlier than the old man could even think of. That magic came attached with such things was not a new concept, he had learned the lesson rather well through the sacrifices.

The Ministry officials said the burst of accidental magic was... well, accidental, that they wouldn't treat it as an actual attack, since his wand remained in its holster on his forearm. That was their official word, but Hadrian noticed how some of them looked upon him with revulsion, disgust and... pity? Only the barest of flickers of these emotions played about on their faces, and though they didn't appear as threats to him, he still didn't like the way they watched him.

Luna was let back into the room next, exchanging some small, meaningless words with him, words providing comfort and evoking a faint smile on his face. Before the Medi-Witch forced him to gulp down a vial of Dreamless Sleep, he asked of Eagala to take care of Luna for today, to keep her safe, while he was here. She agreed, sending a turbulent amount of emotions down the connection they shared, and soon enough, the last thing he saw, before sleep claimed him, was the raven and the serpent.

* * *

That was then, and this is now. His short stay in the hospital had not gone unnoticed, but none asked him anything about, though it was clear that many wished to, especially Greengrass. As he stood there, at the door, waiting for Luna to join him, to venture with her down the path towards the horseless carriages, he contemplated the green-eyed witch. Contemplated the looks she stole his way, the way a hunger arose in her eyes when she thought he could not see it. A hunger for what? What could he possibly offer to a pureblood witch, who was undoubtedly an heiress of the family? What could she want of him? Undoubtedly, time would tell that tale, as it told all tales.

Now, now is when Luna joined him, one of the first to come out from their dormitories, to reach the great doors that led outside. He had taught her the simple spells of shrinking down her belongings, which were thankfully all in her trunk and not tampered with by others, and stuffing them all in the trunk, which was also shrunk down and in the pocket of her robes. Eagala greeted the girl with her own recognizable hissing, which almost could become interpretable amongst the other hisses the serpent sent each of their respective ways.

When they had reached the horseless carriages, Hadrian turned around just as he was about to climb into one and observed Luna, who seemed to be looking at something in front of the carriages. A moment later, her hand reached out up into the air and it looked as if it glided against something, as if it met something in the air that was not visible to the eye.

"Luna?" he voiced concern for the girl.

"I'll be just a minute, they're so _beautiful_," she said, whispering the last word, as if afraid to voice it, not looking away from whatever she was seeing.

"They?"

"Yes, they," she then turned her head away and looked in his direction, tilting her head to the side, "Can't you see them? They're horses. Albeit, odd looking ones."

In that moment, Hadrian let out a small, almost unnoticeable, gasp and understood. His face shifted away from confusion and softened to something akin to compassion. Thestral. A creature which can be seen only by those who witnessed someone dying and understanding what was happening. He didn't speak again, instead he joined by her side, looking back up to the castle, seeing that the first students, them aside, had started leaving the castle, and extended a hand of his own to where hers lay. It was a warm feeling, so warm for the creatures whose very appearance would deny the warmth they radiated. He tried tracing it along what he presumed was its head, but after a short bit ran his hand across empty air, presumably the creature had moved its head. Luna turned her head towards him and smiled, taking his arm and guiding it towards where the nuzzle of the Thestral laid, warmth and wetness brushing against his palm. A smile graced his face and he whispered a solemn _'Thank you'_ to Luna before moving with her to sit in the carriage, ready to be dragged off by Thestrals back to the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

Discomfort. Unease. Worry. Anxiety. That is what she felt as she went out of the compartment that she shared with Zabini, Davis and Parkinson. The latest acquisition for the small clique had been truly unexpected, the girl seemed almost a perfect fit for Malfoy as a companion or ally. It seemed that in the beginning that Parkinson held some small admiration for Malfoy due to her family name, but quickly became disillusioned over the course of this past year. She had seen that staying near Delinda Malfoy didn't benefit her at all, and had found her way into the small group that had unintentionally formed on the very first train-ride to Hogwarts. Well, almost all of the groups. Hadrian Potter was elsewhere at the moment, she knew that much. In what compartment, that she could only guess at, for she had seen him down on the path with the Lovegood girl, standing in front of the horseless carriages, talking amongst themselves and reaching out to something, before they sat in them and went the way towards Hogsmeade's station.

Still, if there was a way to become closer to Hadrian Potter that needed her to abandon the group behind, then so be it. She would do it without a second thought, even though the Davis girl wasn't as far away from her as she used to be, Daphne would leave her behind without hesitation. The possibility of friends was a nice thought, a fleeting thought. Survival came first. For that to happen, for her to survive the coming years, and especially next year, she would need him. Trying to mold him into something amicable to her, easily manipulable was out of the question. He possessed too much will, too much intent to let himself be corralled by anyone. Instead, she would need to resort to... being direct. The thought of it unsettled her, she was never direct, as it was always a way of entrapment for oneself, as it meant showing a part of yourself that could be exploited.

Yet Hadrian Potter survived, with his weaknesses fairly known so far. The Lovegood girl, his familiar and... if there was anything else, none at Hogwarts knew about it. Not even the almighty Hogwarts rumor mill, with its Slytherin sprout, could talk much about Potter when the boy mostly kept to himself, letting nothing be revealed that he didn't mind revealing. The girl and the reptile, weaknesses they might have been, but unprotected? Perish the thought. It had taken quite a lot of students some time to realize this, and Potter had asserted his domain over the two, protecting them, enveloping them in the little mystery that was he. In a way, it sickened her to need to depend on someone else for her survival, in a way, she hated him and anyone else that might be deemed useful by her cold, analytical mind for her continued prosperity. That didn't erase the logic of needing him and that was why she was now outside of the group, checking each compartment she passed for a familiar crow's nest of ebony hair and the long and true silver vines of Lovegood.

It took more time than expected, mainly because she had passed the compartment two times before noticing it. She couldn't help it, a smile had formed on that face of hers, her bowed lips curving up by the corners. A modified version of the Notice-Me-Not charm, not extremely powerful, nor as good as the real thing, but sufficient to fool a passerby, and who would in their right mind be seeking out Hadrian Potter? Who but her?

The door didn't budge initially to her touch, and so she sighed, pulling out her wand from her pocket to cast a basic _Alohomora_ spell at the handle. One _click_ and in she went, the remnants of the glacial mask melting and giving way to but one of the true aspects of herself. In she went, careful to go in slowly and with her hands visible, now that her wand was back in the pocket, so as to not provoke a hostile reaction from the boy. Hostility is the last thing she required of him. At least, not aimed towards her.

* * *

Hadrian's eyes snapped open, the very basic ward he had cast on the inside of the door alerted him about someone that was overriding it. Slowly, his wand slid from its holster and into his hand, the handle gripped firmly between his fingers, positioning it at a good angle so he could fire off a spell from the siting position he was currently in. And what an odd position it was; Luna was sleeping, the back of her head resting against his shoulder, while the rest of her body was up on the seat as well, where she comfortably lay in her slumber, the train's continuous movement having no effect on her. He had temporarily transfigured her coat into a blanket, which would last at least until they reached London or shortly before, and it covered her from neck to toe, a silver ethereal beauty and her alabaster complexion the only visible thing at the end of it.

He observed the girl that glided into his compartment, an unfamiliar smile on her face as she came in. Malachites scoured across the new presence in the compartment, watching where her hands were, palms turned outward and bereft of a wand, earning a subdued rise of an eyebrow at the sight, watching where the handle of her wand stuck out from one of the outside pockets of her summer robes. Finally, his eyes settled against hers, after the observation of her face had been complete, and he barely nodded towards her.

"Greengrass," he greeted her politely, though his wand remained aimed at the blonde-haired witch.

"Potter," came the reply, with an unexpected softness to it, almost as if they were friends of sort, and not merely Housemates by accident.

"Do have a seat, but be quiet about it, I'd rather not interrupt Luna's sleep and I'm not sure I could silence you quickly on my own before we woke her up," he gestured with his other hand towards the seat that sat unoccupied and empty across him.

"Such a gentleman," the witch threw a slight jab at him, flashing him a wicked smile, one that would have justified the muggle stories of wicked witches from the west, "Another quality you hide so carefully beneath the masks," she mock-pouted now, eerily reminding him of the way Yvanna's face looked when she did that the first time to him. Still, she sat down, carefully folding her robes so as to not rumple them, straightening them out where it was unavoidable.

He waited for her to speak. A few minutes at first. Then five. Then ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Half an hour. She spoke nothing, only smiled a faint smile, a smile which indicated _'I know a secret and you don't'_, which had started slowly grating on his nerves. It would seem that the girl would wait until the stars themselves burnt out before speaking first. Fine, he would grant her this little thing. This time.

"Greengrass, while it is a delight to see a fellow Slytherin, one so much more pleasant in appearance and behavior in comparison to other serpents that might have wandered about, in _my_ compartment, I would rather like to know your purpose here."

"Am I such a burden to you then? Is my presence so unbearable?" she spoke with such softness, sadness in her tone, Hadrian was forced to blink, and had to restrain pinching himself from trying to assert whether this was just a brief nightmare he might be having on the train, but her face then changed to a grin, a grin so filled with things he couldn't possibly know that the urge dissipated and he tensed up instead, "No need for such anxiety around me, Potter," the way she spoke his name was disturbing, as if greeting a friend, no, more than a friend. Suffice to say he didn't like it and it showed with the tensing of the area around his eyes, though the glasses hid it well, "I'm only here to propose a trade of sorts."

Tension eased up, though it didn't vanish outright into nothingness. A trade. A trade with a fellow Slytherin.

"What kind of trade, Greengrass?" he spoke her name with the most glacial tone he could summon up, using it as a weapon to distance himself from her, to distance her from him. If she noticed it, she paid it no heed, the smile still held true, it still held the mystery behind her arrival here.

"Tell me something first, before we commence negotiations, if you would, Potter?" she asked and waited for his nod of the head before continuing, before committing fully to the course that would possibly change her fate, "How have you been enjoying _my_ book?"

_'Godsblood, godsblood, godsblood...,'_ it went inside his head, the closest he had to a swear-word, a curse without a purpose, aimed at nothing, aimed at himself, aimed at her, her with her despicable and wretched sweet smile. There was only one book she could be talking about, one book that was not solely his, that had come from a source unknown, before now, to him. Her. Her. Her. Daphne Greengrass. His mind more than just whirled, it more than just twisted and tried to find a reason for this, the reason for her 'gift'. Finally, the strings that he could not trace before became visible to his mind's eye, leading all back to the witch sitting across him, her legs crossed and her hands, one across the other, on top of her knee protruding from beneath the robe.

Oh it was such fun to see the minute facial tugs, the abortion of expressions that transpired on Hadrian Potter's face. He was such a delight in this moment, so confused, so lost, so easy to shape. Or so it seemed at least. She knew it was but a gathering of thoughts, of him trying to find a possible reason for her interference with his education, for the 'gift' she sent him on that Yule morning back in their first year. There was an urge to lick her lips or even cackle with the thrill this gave her. It seemed like an insignificant thing, didn't it? Having one piece of information over another person? But this was a person who devoured information, who tried to find every possible path before committing to one, and she had, figuratively speaking, taken out the path beneath his feet, that had led him to this moment. Then it ended, the tugs and twitches on his face ceased and there seemed to be a glimmer in his eyes, one she had only seen when he fought other students. The desire to gloat somehow abandoned her promptly, her instinct to pull out her yew wand out of the pocket and just hold it in her hands, to reassure herself that should the worst come to pass, she would have a way of fighting back. Suddenly, the idea of a lost, confused Hadrian Potter didn't seem so benign. A serpent backed into a corner will coil up, ready herself for the strike, for the bite and the venom it would deliver, should the intruder come any closer. Her senses told her of something that sat across her, something that was just the very beginning of the suffocating feeling she had felt on that day, back in the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom. Something that would rise up and devour her, the same way he gorged up on information and spat out that which held no interest for him.

Greengrass had tensed, and a flicker of the mystery unveiled itself to him. She could sense him, she could sense the coils that slowly unwrapped themselves, possibly in some basic way, the way that the imaginary serpent that was his magic would rouse from slumber and strike at the threat before him. Still, he held his peace. He would not be the first to breach it, however fragile it might have been, but he would most definitely be the one to finish it.

"I must say, I enjoyed it thoroughly," he finally replied, the minutes that passed between question and answer irrelevant, adding an acidic smile, one that would corrode anything it touched upon, to his politely spoken words, "And to think, I somehow had been gifted such an item by one such as you. That's the thing though, isn't it? The phrase _'such as you'_ is irrelevant here. There is no you _you_ displayed, is there? You're similar to me, and other Slytherins, facades and masks at the ready, except yours are better, more trained, less imperfections than mine. You've done this for years, played games, mind or word related. All for a reason that I don't know. Yet," he finished and waited. Bait set and now time to see what kind of beast it would reel in.

The words he spoke, the suffocating feeling that eclipsed the room... it was delectable. A taste. She wanted more than just one taste. There was no need to shape him, to want to shape him into something, he was already well on his way to becoming all that she could ever need. Possibly more. An involuntary shiver of pleasure ran down her spine, her body and face betraying nothing except for a slight movement of her hands.

The girl before him did not fidget, every movement she made before him now was calculated, precise, never involuntary. He was reminded now of that smile she first wore when she entered the compartment, and felt a tug on his lips as he recalled where he had seen it before; on that tall, long haired blonde man that arrived on the day when the petrifications were stopped, the one that smirked over his apparent and imminent triumph over the Headmaster, before he was, most likely, disappointed by the appearance of the Boy-Who-Lived. Predator, that's what the smile was. Moon wore it as well, though hers held more far sharper teeth to it than Greengrass'. Experience most likely helped her perfect it.

"Good," she spoke and broke his introspection, "I am rather glad you did. I had worried at first, I'll admit as much. Worried that perhaps the material would be lost on you, that some spells might show and you would not want to use them. You have proven me quite wrong, and I have never been more glad for it."

"What do you mean _'some spells might show'_? It's your bloody book, how can you not know what spells would show?" he asked rather bluntly of her. The phrasing intrigued him far more than being evasive with the girl, the mystery that the Brown Book held far more enticing than the dance of words they shared.

Daphne smiled a smile which she appropriately thought as enigmatic and waved the question off, "I will explain more at a later opportunity. Not now, not yet. Not before we conclude the first trade. And I think you will consider this a fair trade, at least the first one. Maybe even enjoyable."

An eyebrow rose on his forehead, unconsciously imitating his Head of House, and the lips parted to pose the inevitable question, pushing back the curiosity, "What kind of trade? And no trade is ever fair, only a fool believes as such. What do you want from me? And what could I possibly want from you?"

"Tut, tut, have you forgotten?" she chided him playfully, one of her hands raising from the other and wagging her index finger at him, "I've given you the book, and yet, I've received nothing in return."

"Maybe you should have left a note then."

"Ah, but everyone loves a good mystery. Isn't that what you said back then on the train ride?"

It was delirious, he was enjoying this! A smile erupted on his face, a true smile, not one of politeness or falsehood, but one born out of true amusement, and she reflected in kind. There was no laughter shared, it would have been crude, rather vulgar to break the dance they had been performing.

"Quite. Now, if we would then, theoretically only, say that I do owe you something in return. What would that one thing be? Help with Potions? Galleons? Eagala's shed skin? My glasses?"

If an expression alone could convey a sound, her smile would have broken the Lovegood from whatever dream she might be currently residing in. She allowed the expression to speak for itself, to confound him just a little bit more, before finally giving him an answer. An answer that would start the avalanche.

"A kiss," she said, a whisper or a promise, it was unclear.

Out of all things she could have named for him to gift her with for the Brown Book, a kiss was definitely not anywhere near the list. A kiss. It was to be no simple kiss, that much was plain to see, a girl she might be, but her mind was anything but girlish in nature. Her gender didn't dictate her actions, had she been born a male, she might have asked that of him anyway. So naturally, only one thing remained to ask.

"Why?" his question carried curiosity.

"I have my reasons," she smiled while taking one of the errant strands of her long hair and pushing it behind her ear before continuing, "I would tell you more of them when we meet on the 1st of September this year, on the train. I would even give you another book, a gift that requires no gift in return, to perhaps explain some things to you about the kiss. If you don't mind kissing a little girl like me, that is," she teased him, allowing her pearly whites to shine through her smile, cocking her head and modulating her voice in a way which didn't befit a twelve year old girl at all.

She was a mystery. Much like the Brown Book, though Daphne Greengrass was anything but plain looking, and undoubtedly she would also require sacrifices of him before parting with her secrets. Would there be only three? Of course not, a person is not a book to be read, to be gleaned from just looking at the pages. He would hate to admit so out loud, but he was intrigued. It was like a play of sorts, where the script was yet unknown to the actors involved, where they would just play along as the show went. However, it would have been nice to know it was a play from the very start or that he was in it. Another one-word question.

"When?" a grain of uncertainty crept into his tone.

"On the 1st of September, on the train. I ask this of you only when you've gleaned the knowledge from the book that I'm about to give you. Only when you understand what I'm asking of you. Consider it a way to prepare yourself."

"And if I refuse?" he asked.

"Take a look at _your_ book, go on," she carried that expression of mystery rather well and he slowly pulled out his trunk from beneath his seat, with a spell, cast a privacy charm so she could not overhear his key-word for its opening and then summoned the Brown Book to him. It still hummed with his magic, but when his fingers closed around it, there was something else. Opening the book and looking at the first pages told him everything she wanted to know. The rest of the book was the same.

"So," he began, a sprinkle of irritation seeping through, "What makes you think I could not simply accept that what I've learned so far is enough and go on my own to learn the rest? Why should I care that there are only blank pages in it now?"

"Because you sacrificed too much," she said, her voice carrying something unfamiliar to it, "Because you don't want to let it go to waste. Because there's knowledge which you haven't yet gained from it. And my price is not that horrible, now is it? Or are you simply not interested in girls?"

The first thing she said rang true to him, too true. The second and third as well. The fourth and fifth... well, one was teasing and the other was perhaps aimed as an insult or inquiry, he wasn't sure which.

"Girls... are the last thing on my mind."

"Yet you have Lovegood, glued to you at the h—"

Her word stayed unformed, the suffocating feeling now was in its full force, the crushing oppressiveness of the other magic in the room promising pain and humiliation for an offense offered.

"Careful now, Greengrass," a glacier was warmth of the hearth compared to his voice now, "I thought you a more clever, or at least subtle, witch. Yet here you are, proving to be as graceful as Longbottom in Potions."

Breathing was labored for her, as the pressure didn't ease, didn't let up, despite the boy not moving his wand or the lack of tension in his body. His eyes almost seemed to shine, a spectral quality to it, similar to a curse she had only envisioned of using once or twice before.

"I apologize for my rash words," she spoke the words, each syllable a mountain of weight on her tongue, her heart meaning it, the need for his cooperation supplanting her self-esteem. A moment passed and the pressure moved away from her, remaining dormant in the background, ready to make her crumble in on herself if needed. This time, she didn't restrain herself, and the tip of her tongue escaped those lips of hers, and she licked them as if she just crossed a desert and they had become chapped, in need of fluids. The momentary loss of dignity was deemed immaterial, in comparison to what she felt.

Some time passed while the two, witch and wizard, unwound from the tension. The third presence still slumbered, blissfully unaware of things happening around her, the magic that sought to harm another only soothed her in her sleep, a comfortable and unphysical arm wrapping her close in comfort.

"If I accept," he started in a calm and collected voice, "Is there a choice for the trades you would ask later on from me?"

"Always," she nodded her head as an emphasis to her reply, "Even this is your choice. Opening the book, using the spells, learning its lessons, that was a choice too. You could have thrown it away, if you wanted to."

"And if I did, if I had thrown it away, would you have asked another boy for a kiss?" he teased.

A small smirk was her reply, "Yes."

One single blink of the eyes later and the ebony wand was gone from his pale hand, the magic settling back into the coils wrapped around his being, settling in a small amount of discontent at being so roused and not used. The relief and... was that longing?... were evident on Greengrass' face. She carried a mixture of softness and something else in those jade eyes of hers, before he was distracted by the careful move of her hand towards one of her inner pockets, out of which came a shrunk down book. Then she pulled out her wand, bone-white, intricate carvings displayed on it, though not for long enough for him to discern what they were, and tapped the book twice before it was enlarged. The cover carried no title.

"Are all your books without a title?" he couldn't resist one last small jab.

"Only the ones worth something. Labels might be useful, but it can distract you from the content within. Like yourself," those were her parting words as she left the compartment, gifting him with one last smile for the day. The book that laid in his hand felt like lead weight, carrying the unknown within it. A kiss for a book. Fair trade, was it not?

* * *

"Will you come to visit this summer?"

"Of course, I promised."

"Good, I'll be sure to store up some puddings for you."

One last hug from Luna and she moved to the inside of an extinguished hearth. A calm announcement _'To the Moon'_ from her, a splash of powder and she was gone in the bright green flames, leaving him behind. Before he turned around to the platform, a familiar embrace happened, one which he eased himself into.

"Hello, Yvanna," he murmured the greeting, enjoying the touch more than he ever did before.

"Hello, little one," spoke the same melodic voice that he had come to care for, in his own fashion, "Was that silver beauty your friend?"

"Yes," he replied, not denying that Luna was a beauty unto itself, "I'll be going to her home in a week, where I'll be staying most of the summer. But I'll come to the _"Night Bird"_, I'll even bring her along for a few days, if you don't mind."

The fingers disentangled themselves from his hair, and he was turned by the gentle touch of the older witch that cared for him in equal measure as he cared for Luna, "You're always welcome in my home, little one. Never doubt that. Now then, let us leave this place behind, and later on you can tell me about your year," her blue eyes carried mirth within them. They would depart King's Cross with a familiar _pop_ and in the comfort of the place he almost considered a home, he would tell his tale. At least, parts of it anyway.


End file.
